Fallout: New York (SYOC - DISCONTINUED)
by MyDude5
Summary: This story is no longer being written.
1. Intro and OC Form

**SYOC Story:** **Centuries after the bombs went off and the war began, New York City is derelict and in ruins, yet still populated and functional like the rest of America has been since the war. Dozens of men and women wander through the city alone, either helping, scavenging, or causing mayhem. Regardless of their purpose, soon enough they find that they won't be wandering alone for wrong. Submit your characters for this story!**

New York was one of the first places to go. The first and only bomb that went off in the city was downtown in SoHo, but this was enough to wipe out nearly everybody in the city, save for those in the vaults. Originally, most of Manhattan flooded, but as the years passed the water level subsided and slowly groups of people began to repopulate and scavenge.

Super mutants, raiders, synths, and Brotherhood alike have chosen to take residence in New York City, and the amount of things to do and people to see in the city is nearly endless, as it used to be pre-war.

It's a great place to get into trouble, get drunk, and get high off chems. It also, as it turns out, is an even better place to meet likeminded wanderers.

 **The intro is brief, but the sooner you guys submit your characters, the sooner we can all get to the meat of the story. New York City has been slightly addressed in the Fallout universe, but we're basically starting from scratch with the NYC lore here. I would love submissions for both villains in the story and members of the story's core group of wanderers.**

 **Anyway, without further ado, here is the OC form. PM it to me or leave a review, but I'd prefer a PM since it makes it a little easier to keep in contact with you about your character.**

 **Name:**

 **Gender:**

 **Age:**

 **Sexuality:**

 **Species (example: human, synth, super mutant, cyborg):**

 **Body type (height, build, weight, other features):**

 **Hair (color, style, facial hair):**

 **Eyes:**

 **Face (noticeable features, scars, tattoos, general face-shape/attractiveness):**

 ** _Note: you are welcome to add a link to a picture of a celebrity lookaliek._**

 **Personality:**

 **Likes/dislikes:**

 **The kind of people they usually get along with/don't get along with:**

 **Opinions on romance/sexual encounters:**

 **Clothing usually worn:**

 **Casual clothing for scenes at bars/hotels:**

 **Sleepwear:**

 **Former factions (example: brotherhood, railroad, NCR):**

 ** _Note: all factions are previous affiliated with your character, since they are travelling alone before the story begins. 'N/A' is an acceptable answer._**

 **Karma (very evil, evil, neutral, good, very good):**

 **Perks (3 perks from any of the games. Note: if your character is a cyborg, the 'cyborg' perk is a chosen default):**

 ** _SPECIAL (all from 1-10)_**

 **Strength:**

 **Perception:**

 **Endurance:**

 **Charisma:**

 **Intelligence:**

 **Agility:**

 **Luck:**

 **Weapon of choice:**

 **Tag skills (3 may be chosen. Options are: barter, energy weapons, explosives, guns, lockpick, medicine, melee weapons, repair, science, speech, survival, unarmed):**

 **Anything you want to include that I forgot:**

 **If either of us missing anything in this form, is it alright if I PM you and ask you for a little more about your character?:**


	2. Chapter One: Grand City & Introductions

**Hey everyone. So, there were a lot of OCs submitted, and I accepted most of them, I believe. The OCs for this chapter (in order of appearance) are David Ambrose, Elizabeth Lowell, Quasar Jones, Dante, Katherine Jensen, Jack Devich, Jonathan Law, and Sarah Kastan**

 **This chapter has a lot of basic introductions, so it's rather long. I didn't fit all of the OCs in this chapter, so if one of your OCs isn't in this one, don't worry. I will probably introduce the rest next chapter.**

* * *

"This town used to be a transportation hub," a young bartender told the man sitting at his bar. "Subways and trains came through here," he added, lifting a glass to wipe down the table in front of the man. The man nodded at the information. He had a glass of neat bullet rye whiskey in front of him, and the sun had already set when he got back to Grand City some two hours ago.

He wore a bandana to keep shoulder length black hair out of his face, and he sported a trimmed black beard. He was older than the twenty-year-old bartender by around a decade, and he looked rugged and worn out from battle, with a scar over one of his blue eyes, and another on his cheek.

"It's the capital now. Of New York City. You want another?"

The man shook his head. He wore a type of ranger combat uniform that most locals wouldn't recognize. It consisted of a tactical breastplate and a long, brown duster that draped over his chair.

"Yeah. Have a nice night, man. What's your name, again?" The bartender pulled the man's empty glass under the bar and then wiped down the counter.

"David." He slipped over seven caps, and turned to look at the door to the place he was staying. He had one of the smaller rooms in Grand City's hotel, but they gave it to him half off for running raiders out of a nearby subway station. He swung his feet onto the ground and started to make his way towards the hotel. He hadn't done much exploring of Grand City; it was small for a city inside of an old train station, but the only places he had been so far were the bar and his room.

The motel was built over old train tracks on the ground level of the city, across from the bar, which used to be the ticket booths, David figured.

He got back to the room, undressed down to boxers and a t-shirt, and fell asleep very quickly without even getting under the covers.

* * *

In the lower level of Grand City – a restaurant that used to be a _Shake Shack_ , now called _Ethel and Bart's –_ an old ghoul couple served breakfast to travellers willing to pay for food that wasn't irradiated or lead-flavored. A young woman was sitting alone at one of the tables, talking to one of the ghouls who owned the restaurant. In front of her was a plate of Brahmin sausage, a radscorpion egg omelette, and sliced tatos.

"What brings you back here, love?" the elderly female ghoul inquired. "I thought you were on your way out of Manhattan."

Elizabeth shrugged. "Ethel, how could I ever leave you and your Brahmin sausages?" The elderly woman laughed warmly and put a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "To be honest, though, people pay good money for things I can do in this place."

Ethel sighed. "I don't like what you do. You're young."

"Twenty-seven."

"A baby! I'm one hundred and eight!"

Elizabeth took a bite of the sausage. She had high cheekbones, straight teeth, and wavy, layered butterscotch blond hair pulled back in a high ponytail. "Well, you don't look a day over one hundred and seven."

Ethel rolled her eyes. "I have to go make another omelette. Don't die."

"I never do." She stabbed her fork into a tato. She was wearing black pants and black boots, along with a buttoned flannel shirt under an open, flowing black jacket weighted with ballistic layering. She put the tato in her mouth and dug into her pocket for the caps to pay for her breakfast.

* * *

Quasar Jones woke up in Grand City's hotel well after dawn. It was at least an hour after _Ethel and Bart's_ stopped serving breakfast, and he rolled out of the bed in a black t-shirt and grey briefs. He pulled off the shirt and threw on a light brown elbow sleeved t-shirt, a dark brown tank top, and tan combat pants and boots. He slipped on fingerless gloves, copper colored sturdy combat armor, and he fastened a watch to his left hand. Lastly, he pulled on a red desert scarf and a grey and red baseball cap. Grand City was a nice place to say, but there wasn't much to do there for Quasar. He threw everything he had into his bag and slipped his shishkebab into a holster on his back.

He popped into the bathroom, ran hand through his medium length brown hair, and turned on an electric razor, leaving himself with light stubble. He brushed his teeth and then made his way to the door. Quasar's eyes were a mix between green and hazel, and he had a faded scar running from his chin to the left side of his lips. Overall, he had a friendly face and he knew it.

He shut the door behind him and made his way out of the hotel and into the heart of the city. The city was entirely indoors, but Quasar was about to hit the streets.

He walked down a long corridor, full of shops and bars, and pulled his .44 pistol out before leaving the city. He flashed two city guards a smile as he left.

He thought about where he wanted to go next, and figured it would be worth the trip to 60th and 5th, the pre-war _Apple Store,_ now something of a fancy bar called the _Apple's,_ meant for New York City's richest residents to gather and share stories. Not only did Quasar love talking to rich people, but also he knew they always had ridiculously high paying tasks and bounties he never minded carrying out.

He made it two blocks before he saw the first feral ghoul. It didn't notice him, so he got off a clean shot to the head. He heard a squeal behind him, and he knew it was from another ghoul. He whipped the shishkebab out of his holster without turning it on and sliced down the ghoul behind him. The first ghoul he shot made another noise, and Quasar only had a minute to be confused before he saw a Glowing One come out from inside the ruins of a _Starbucks._ "Oh, fuck me," he grumbled, the shishkebab roaring to life with dancing flames.

* * *

It was rare to find another traveller who knew how to play Caravan, a game almost solely known to folks from Nevada. When Dante asked anybody at the Track 21 Casino in Grand City if they could play a round of Caravan, he got rather mixed responses, ranging from confused to displeased. But, he and the deck he'd had since he left Nevada were determined to pass the time somehow.

Fortunately, a well-learned ghoul called Bart overheard him and offered to play a hand of Caravan with him at one of the tables at _Bart and Ethel's_. Ethel was at the register, counting caps, and there were a few costumers at some of the tables talking loudly and eating brunch.

Bart's caravans were currently 15, 4, and 25, while Dante's were 16, 20, and 6, respectively. The wager was low; Dante bet twenty caps, and Bart bet a plate of radscorpion eggs over easy and toast. Dante played a king on his caravan of 16, raising the value to 25. Bart used a queen on his first pile. Easily, Dante played an ace on his second pile of cards, winning him the game.

"I haven't played this game since I learned it in Vegas some years back," Bart explained. "But you won fair and square. Let me fix you those eggs." Bart stood, gathered his deck, and slipped it into his pocket.

"Bart, honey," Ethel said from the cash register.

"Lost a game of caravan. I owe the man eggs," Bart pointed his thumb back at Dante, who was shuffling his own deck back into order. Dante's hair was dark brown and tied back in a small bun. He was very young, probably no older than the pre-war drinking age, thought Bart. Maybe a year or two older, but at one hundred and thirty, Bart tended to mix up the ages of smoothskins like Dante.

Dante had a strong jawline covered in a light layer of stubble, high cheekbones, and a gaunt face. There was a faint slit that used to be a scar on his right eyebrow. He rested his face in one of his hands and used the other to play with a joker from his deck.

Bart came back with the plate of eggs and Dante thanked him. "Good game."

"Sure thing."

"Hey, Bart?" Dante broke one of the eggs and watched the yolk spread over his plate and touch his toast. "Are you pre-war?"

"Can't say that I am," Bart admitted. "I'm old as all hell, though. I've seen lots."

"I don't doubt it." Dante wore a t-shirt, army fatigue pants, and combat boots. Over this, he had on an old ranger duster and a red cloth tied around his right bicep. "I've been looking for a game for days."

"I lived in Vegas for a bit."

"Me too."

Bart looked at the young man's face. He was handsome, and his eyes were tired and hazel. Bart wondered what this boy had been through, but he decided not to ask. "Stay safe, kid. It's hard out there. Too hard for an old ghoul like me."

Dante had toast in his mouth so he just nodded.

"Honey, could you give your new boyfriend a break and come here?" Ethel beckoned her husband over.

Bart laughed. "See you, kid." He left Dante to finish his eggs and toast. Dante liked Bart, and he liked he food at the restaurant, but he figured it would be in his best interest to move on.

* * *

Midtown New York City was many things. Some of midtown wasn't all that bad, but besides the East Village, it was the place in Manhattan where most of the borough's slavers scouted for victims.

Slavers' favorite kind of people were children, and after that they liked women. At the current moment, a small squad of six slavers really liked the looks of a pretty woman with sleek black hair that stopped just below her jaw. The woman was young and in her early twenties with an oval shaped face with hollow, high cheekbones, the left one of which had a deep scar the size of a bottle cap.

"Dee," one of the slavers addressed another. "See that broad?"

Dee nodded. He saw her. She had watery, wide, grey-green eyes and pouty lips. "Imagine my fucking pay day."

The 'broad' was on her way downtown, wearing form fitting leather pants and a dark red shirt, a utility belt, and brown hiking boots under combat armor.

"Looks like a tough bitch," Dee said

A new slaver piped up. "Sure, but we're six tough bitches. That's just one."

Dee almost cackled, but didn't want to make noise. He pulled a mesmetron out of the back of his pants. "Let's fucking go."

Four of them popped out from behind a ruined _CVS_ and the woman immediately noticed. She drew her two .44 pistols and aimed one at Dee, and one at the next most threatening-looking man. "Boys," she acknowledged.

Dee almost lowered his weapon, feeling some sort of intimidated he did not expect to feel from a twenty-something, five and a half foot tall woman. "Uh." Dee looked at another man for advice. "Hey."

A bullet flew from the .44 in her left hand and struck down the man Dee was looking at. Dee took a step back and the mesmetron accidentally fired into one of his slaver companions. "Shit!" He fumbled to reload. "Fuck!"

The woman fired another bullet and took out another slaver. "Maybe the rest of you should go back to where you came from. Better men than you have tried worse." Dee fell to his knees, trying to reload a gun he barely knew how to use.

"Guys!" he wailed.

That was when the woman remembered. Slavers travelled in packs of six. She barely turned around before two more slavers came onto the street, too close to her for comfort. She aimed one gun at each man, but the one with full combat armor and a stun baton didn't seem to care. She shot one of the men, whose mesmetron fell to the ground with a thud, but when she tried to hit the man with the stun baton, his armor absorbed the hit.

She dropped one of her guns to try and grab his arm as it came down, but he was too strong, and they both fell to the ground.

" _Dee_ ," growled the man on top of her.

Dee, having finally reloaded his mesmetron, took aim at the woman.

Everything went dead silent for a moment, but the woman was not about to give up. There was a whirr – the unmistakable sound of an energy weapon going off, and she heard Dee scream behind her. The man on top of her looked up, and something blew him off of her. When she looked over at where his body would be, she saw only a puddle of goo.

She sat up and looked towards the source of the shots.

It was another woman with butterscotch blonde hair in a dark jacket and plaid shirt. She was holding a plasma pistol by her side, and with her other hand she gave a wave. "You looked like you were in some trouble. I'm Elizabeth Lowell."

"I had it under control." The woman pushed herself to her feet. "Katherine Jensen."

Elizabeth debated offering a hand, and was relieved when Katherine offered hers first. "You're good with those guns."

Katherine raised an eyebrow. "How long were you watching?"

Elizabeth gave an unhelpful and vague shrug. "You had it under control until Grognak the Barbarian over there came out of the jungle with a stun baton."

Katherine gave a laugh. "Fair enough."

"It's unfortunate," Elizabeth commented. "The slaver problem in this city."

"Every city has slaver problems," said Katherine. "But slavers here are dumber than boxes of nails."

"Sure," agreed Elizabeth. "You heading my way?"

"Which way is that?"

Elizabeth looked south. "Downtown."

"What's downtown for you?"

"Cocktails," Elizabeth replied.

"You're going into slaver territory for cocktails?"

Elizabeth thought about this. "Vault 113," she said after a moment. "And cocktails."

"Well, I'm always in the mood for a cocktail. I'll walk with you. Hey, Elizabeth, where are you from? You don't have a local accent."

"Boston. Sort of. Commonwealth of Massachusetts."

"Boston sort of? You want to elaborate?"

Elizabeth gave a lighthearted laugh. "It's boring," she said. "My parents were boring people, and we lived in a boring white house. I ran away… sort of. I mean, they died, so running was easy."

"Me too. I also ran away – sort of. No one quite died, though. But I don't think you're quite as boring as you let on. Where'd you learn how to use that plasma pistol? Not a lot of people know how to fix those up."

"Call it a knack?"

"Elizabeth Lowell, you're lying out of your ass."

"We're not at the stage in our relationship where I tell you about what happened to me as a kid. But I'll give you this." Elizabeth rolled up her right sleeve and turned over her arm. "This arm is not real. My original right arm got blown off when my parents died. Some of my organs aren't real either. It was a hell of a time."

"Who built you?"

"Who built me?"

"The robot half of you. Who built it?"

"I did."

"That sounds like something we could talk about over drinks. You said there were cocktails downtown?" Katherine changed the subject, although she was still curious, she figured Elizabeth would talk more once she had a whiskey or two in her system.

"I like the way you think."

* * *

Jack Devich was a quiet man. He was average height, very young, and he had black-slicked back hair, black stubble, and dark eyes. His cheeks were rounded and his lips were pouty. He was sitting on a bench, at an abandoned public private park on Sutton.

He had on a brown t-shirt and matching boots and fingerless gloves, and a dark green jacket with dark green pants.

He had just finished a bounty hunter job taking down a retired slaver who had killed a man's wife. Courtesy of that old slaver, Jack had a bottle of whiskey he was drinking from. He had taken it upon himself to loot the man's liquor cabinet. The man's house had been littered with mines, but Jack knew how to walk over them without setting them off.

He wasn't quite drunk, perhaps a little buzzed, but nothing that would dull his senses too much. He knew nobody harmful was ever on Sutton, but he wasn't willing to take chances.

He screwed the cap on the whiskey bottle and stood up when he heard a noise behind him. He aimed his shotgun at the man standing at the park's entrance. "Stop," he said.

"Hey, man, would you chill?" Quasar pointed his .44 at Jack. "I'm just a dude. Standing in front of another dude. Asking him not to shoot me with his bigass gun."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You're covered in ghoul blood."

"Could it be I just fought some ghouls?"

Jack holstered his gun and crossed his arms over his chest. "Devich," he eventually offered.

"Have a last name?"

"Devich."

"Your name is Devich Devich?" Quasar joked.

"Jack Devich." He cracked a smile. "I never see people at these parks."

"I read somewhere they're nice to relax. Kick back. Drink alone." He gestured to Jack's half empty bottle of whiskey. "You look young."

"I'm twenty-one," Jack replied.

Quasar would have believed that he were either five years older or five years younger. "Where you headed?"

"Anywhere that pays. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. But, it's Quasar Jones. Do you want a drinking buddy?"

"Not especially. I don't know you. You could be a slaver for all I know."

"For all you know, I could be a ghoulified Benjamin Franklin. I'm not, though. I'm better looking. Look, Devich Devich, I'm just a guy who wants to have a drink. I'm harmless enough," he assured Jack. "Drink with me."

Jack thought for a long while. "Sit," he eventually offered.

* * *

A super mutant with moderate intelligence was a rare sight. Most people were rather prejudice against mutants despite some of them being benign. An old mutant who called himself Hamilton sat on a park bench with a man named Jonathan Law. Hamilton's skin was wrinkled, yellow, and peeling, and he had no hair on his head besides a wiry grey beard.

Jonathan was six feet, five inches tall, and possessed a good deal of muscle. He had a good deal of stubble and black hair that looked wind blown and pushed back. "Did you have a name before Hamilton?" he asked.

Hamilton said, "probably. I don't remember, though." He had the beady black eyes of a mutant, while Jonathan had almond shaped deep blue ones. "I think I was born before the war."

Jonathan on the other hand was born twenty-eight years ago. "Do mutants get along with you?"

"They don't. I'm old and they don't like how I speak. They call it 'human talk.'"

Hamilton and Jonathan had similar scars across their faces. Jonathan's ran from the right tip of his left elbow to the corner of his lip, and Hamilton's slashed across his right eye, leaving him blinded there.

"I think you're an alright guy," Jonathan offered. "What do you do in your spare time?"

"I read," said Hamilton. "You a lover or a fighter?" he asked.

"If I had to pick," Jonathan wondered. "Fighter." He tapped the sniper on his back. "Gift from a friend. The gun's called Peacekeeper."

"Where's that friend now?"

"The friend's not around anymore."

"Most of my friends aren't either," Hamilton offered his condolences. "When I was a kid, I had a toy gun I called Pop." There was silence for a little bit, but Hamilton didn't mind. He liked that Jonathan talked to him. "Can't remember my name, but I know my old toy gun was called Pop. Where you headed after this, boy?"

"I'm just trying to go around and do as much good as I can."

"I respect that," Hamilton said. "You have any friends?"

"Not really," said Jonathan. "Most people aren't quite my type." Jonathan wore desert ranger combat armor from Nevada. "Where are you from?"

"Texas. You?"

"Nevada. I was a desert ranger."

"Sounds noble," Hamilton commented.

"It was."

Hamilton stood. "Well, boy, I need to go off and feed my dogs. It was worth the talk. Always nice to talk to a friendly face," he turned and walked off.

Jonathan pulled the sniper from his back and began to methodically clean it. It was a calming task that he often found himself performing. He held no prejudice against super mutants or ghouls, and often found that they made very nice conversation.

* * *

An old protectron that usually guarded a pub downtown had recently broken. The owners were not willing to give slavers a chance to come into their store, and so they hired a young woman to fix their robot for them.

The woman was tall and lean with red hair and green eyes. She had a scar from the top of her right cheek down to her lip. Her eyebrows were thin, her face was round, and her nose had never been broken before. She was fully invested in the work in front of her, and a few steps away, the owners were speaking about her.

"She's a bit odd," a thin man commented in a whisper.

"She's doing the work, so let me tell you: I do not care," a stout man responded. "Zero percent care. You don't have to see her ever again, you know."

The woman was wearing an armored jumpsuit, and she had knives and a machete at her belt.

"She could probably kick my ass," the stout man commented.

"Probably."

The woman finished the protectron, closed the circuits, and walked up to the men. "Done," she said, extending a hand.

The stout man looked confused, and then shook it.

"No," she said. "Pay me."

"Oh, right. That's 75 caps for that." He handed her a baggie full of caps, and she dumped it in with the rest of her money on her belt.

"Bye," she said.

"Well, sure," the stout man tried to get a sense of the kind of person she was. She was pretty, but he was certain that he'd never met a weirder girl in the wasteland. She was friendly too – not the dangerous kind of weird – but something about it rubbed the stout man the wrong way.

He shrugged to himself. Wasn't his problem. Not at all.

She made it a few steps outside of the pub before she bumped into a man wearing a red bandana. "Sorry!" she announced.

"Alright," he said, moving to let her pass by. After a moment of her walking away, he shouted after her. "Ma'am," he said.

"Sir!" she said back.

He pulled his assault carbine off of his back and aimed it past her. "Spiders to your six," he told her.

She spun around and pulled a knife from her pocket. "Spider!" she agreed quickly.

A hairless tarantula the size of a bear had just turned the block. Its eyes moved from Sarah to David, and it began to crawl towards them.

David pumped four bullets into the spider, and Sarah threw one of her throwing knives into one of its eyes. The pair waited a moment before it dropped to the ground. "You have a good arm," he told the girl.

"You shoot well." She walked to the spider and pulled her knife from its eye. "Were you Brotherhood?"

David shook his head. "NCR. I don't mind the Brotherhood though."

"I was with them for a bit," Sarah said. "But they ran me out."

"Why's that?"

Sarah hesitated, but David seemed to be warm enough to be trusted. "They found out about me. I'm a synth."

David nodded. "That's unfortunate."

She nodded again. "I'm good at fixing things. But I need to find a scientist."

"Why?"

"So he can fix me."

Something about her eyes and her mouth and the way she stated her goal so earnestly drove David to offer, "Want me to help you out? I'm sure the city's got tons of men who know what they're doing."

"Do you know?"

"Do I know science? I'm afraid not. But I know the city, and I know where you could start looking."

* * *

 **PM me if I forgot anything crucial about your OC, or if I made an incorrect characterization. Also, leave a review if you're enjoying the story! Let me know which OCs you think your OC would get along with, or any plot points you want to be included in the story with your character.**


	3. Chapter Two: Grouping Together

**Hey everyone. Thanks for the positive reviews! There are going to be a few new OCs in this chapter, because you guys have really submitted good characters. If your OC was rejected, you are welcome to submit another one, or redo your first with more details (the OCs that were rejected were ones without much detail on their form). For your convenience, the OC sheet is now on my profile so you can copy and paste it.**

 **Some more new OCs are still welcome at this point, but unlikely to be accepted unless they are very detailed and well written. Female OCs are also more likely to be accepted, as I've received mostly males since the story started.**

 **I've decided to divide the story into longer sections involving groups of multiple characters for this chapter, so let me know if you like this format better than last chapter's format!**

 **Note: this chapter went longer than expected, so today I'm only going to feature eight characters (6 old ones plus 2 introductions).**

 **Next chapter I'm going to introduce four OCs, and that's going to be the first thing that happens. Those OCs are Paladin Logan, Benjamin, James Morgan, and Svetlana Bishop, so to the people who submitted those OCs: you'll get lots of time next chapter.**

 **Also, the old characters that I did not feature today were Jonathan and Dante, both of whom I love, but could not find room for this chapter.**

* * *

 **Section One: Elizabeth, Katherine, Quasar, and Jack**

* * *

With two dirty wastelander cocktails in front of them, Elizabeth and Katherine had taken temporary refuge at a bar that used to be a subway station at Union Square. There were also places to stay down in the station, but they didn't know if they'd be spending the night or not.

"Do you ever miss where you grew up?" Katherine asked, swirling her drink – a mix of Nuka Cola, wild mutfruit, and whiskey.

"I think to some extent, everybody misses where they grew up," Elizabeth offered. "So yeah, sure."

"Where in Boston are you from?" They were each halfway done with their drink, and Katherine seemed relentless in her line of questioning. "We're traveling together, I think you owe me a little bit of information."

"Alright. Under."

"Under?" Katherine asked.

"Under," Elizabeth confirmed.

"What, like the sewers?"

Elizabeth gave a vague half smile, and then explained, "You could call it a nice sewer if you want."

"Actually, I want to know what _you_ call it. And a straight answer this time, or you're paying for the next round." Katherine made a gesture to Elizabeth's jacket pocket, where Elizabeth kept her caps.

"You're pushy," she commented.

"I just want to know my company," Katherine retorted. "I don't know if I can trust someone who won't talk to me."

Elizabeth sighed into her drink. "It was eleven years ago. They died eleven years ago. Guess how many people I've told about my home since then." When Katherine didn't guess, Elizabeth continued, "In eleven years, I have told zero people about where I was born." She downed the rest of her drink in one chug. "If you stick around long enough, maybe we can exchange stories."

"Well." Katherine mirrored Elizabeth and downed her own drink. "I guess that means you're stuck with me."

"Is that what that means?" Elizabeth inquired. She thought for a minute, and then offered "Next round's on me."

In the middle of their next round of dirty wastelanders, Katherine asked where they were staying the night. "Or do you not sleep? You know – robot."

"I do in fact do that. And I think I want to do that soon. Any ideas on where we should crash?"

"I was actually thinking about staying at that guy's room." She gestured to a very handsome young man in pre-war jeans.

"You know that guy?"

"Not yet. Can we reconvene here in the morning?"

Elizabeth studied the handsome man. She wasn't particularly wary of him, and he _was_ rather handsome, but she was dead tired. "Yeah."

Katherine got up and made her way to the man. Elizabeth watched them chat for a second, and then Katherine turned around, mouthed, ' _room 104_ ' to Elizabeth, holding up the correct number of fingers for each letter, and then disappeared behind the door to the hotel.

"Want another drink?" The bartender chuckled.

"No drink," she replied. "How about a room?"

* * *

" _My son_!" Quasar awoke to screaming, which was odd, he thought, given that he was in a hotel underground. He turned and put a pillow over his ears. " _They took my son!"_

There was a knock on Quasar's door. He thought this was very unfortunate, but rolled out of bed anyway. He looked down at his clothes, which were just a t-shirt and briefs. The screaming had died down long enough for him to crack open his door without the fear of his ears being bombarded. Outside of his hotel room door stood his new friend, Jack Devich.

Jack was fully dressed from his combat boots to his fingerless gloves. He even had his shotgun already slung over his back. "Do you hear that?" he asked.

"Yeah!" Quasar announced.

"I'm going to help that woman, and I'm giving you a chance to come with me."

"Why? Who is she?" Quasar wondered if Devich was looking at his bulge. He hoped not. Devich was not a very pretty lady. Quasar laughed to himself. Maybe he'd say that one out loud. He opened his mouth to ask Devich what the relationship between him and Quasar's bulge were, but Devich interrupted that thought process.

"She's a rich woman whose son was just taken by slavers."

"That sucks," Quasar agreed. "Hey Jack, you know how I'm in my underwear?" he began his joke.

"Yeah. Put clothes on." Jack shut the door, and Quasar never had his chance.

Quasar brushed his teeth and threw on his gear. He shrugged into his combat armor and wrapped his scarf around his neck. He decided not to wear the baseball cap that day, because he feared it might get dirty during his and Jack's adventures.

He opened his door back up, and Jack was waiting outside, fiddling with his gun.

"Are you ready, stranger?" Quasar asked. He touched his shishkebab, just to make sure it was there.

"That lady is staying here until she gets her kid back. Or at least news about her kid," Jack explained. "Plus, she's related to the founders of Atrium City," he said, referring to a city that used to be a shopping mall called The Atrium.

"So she's – in a word – rich as fuck," Quasar confirmed.

"In a word," agreed Jack.

They strolled by Room 104, where an impatient looking woman with butterscotch blonde hair in a ponytail was standing. Another woman left the room, waved goodbye to whomever was in there, and flashed the first woman a smile. "Okay, let's get this show on the road," the second woman said.

"Slavers took a woman's kid. I think we should detour to get him back," the blonde said.

"Fuck, a kid? Yeah, let's go. Let's get the kid back," the dark haired one replied.

Quasar and Jack overheard. "Ladies," Quasar began. They both turned to look at him, and he said, "That's where my buddy and I are going. Jack, say hello. This is Jack."

Jack waved.

"How about a foursome?" Quasar offered.

Elizabeth was about to say something, but nobody was ever going to find out what it was, because Katherine said, "Are you guys good fighters? Because we need all the help we can get. Slaver territory out here is bad, and the safety of a kid is at stake."

"This is Katherine. I'm Elizabeth," Elizabeth said before Katherine could get anymore words out.

"Quasar and Jack. If you don't like us, you can leave, but we're both good with our hands, right Devich?" Quasar lightly nudged Jack with his elbow.

"I'm a good shot," Jack clarified. "Jack Devich. But I think after this vacation here, I'm going to head my own way."

"Alright man," said Quasar. "Consider it, my dude."

Jack nodded.

"Are we a group of people in agreement, then?" Katherine asked. "Team up to save a kid, then we're done?"

"We don't _have_ to be done," Quasar said. "Where you headed after the whole 'child' thing? Jack and I were just hanging, right Jack?" He elbowed Jack yet again. "We could hang with you guys."

"We're going downtown," Elizabeth explained. "Vault 113. It's the old vault with all of this scrap technology."

"After that, _Schiller's_ makes a killer Nevada Mule," added Katherine.

"So, slaver hub, nerd vault, cocktails?" Quasar confirmed.

Katherine laughed. "Nerd vault," she repeated.

"What's in a Nevada mule?" Jack interrupted.

"Vodka and Sunset Sarsaparilla," Elizabeth told him. "So! The sooner we get through a slaver compound to find a rich lady's child, the sooner we can put those in our mouths."

"Wait," Katherine said. "You never said 'rich lady', you just said 'lady.'"

"Surprise!" Quasar announced. "She's rich _and_ down one child. So, should we go?"

They went.

* * *

This particular slaver compound that the ragtag group of four was scouting was one of the smaller slaver hubs in the Liberty Wastes. The goal was to get in, get the kid, and get out, all as soon as possible without making a scene. Even though the hub was small, and the people in the group were trained fighters, they didn't know if they could take out an entire hub of slavers without compromising their mission.

Elizabeth made sure her plasma pistol was loaded, and Katherine did the same with her .44 pistols, both with advanced receivers.

"Let's go," whispered Jack. He pulled out his shotgun and cocked it.

"Whoa, big guy," Quasar said, even though the two men were the exact same height at 5' 11". "That thing is loud as all hell. Put it away."

"What do you expect me to do, then?" Jack demanded.

"Not get us killed. Maybe be quiet?" Quasar gave Jack a firm pat on the shoulder. He looked around, and then he picked a piece of rubble up off of the street. "Here. Hit somebody really hard with this."

Jack dropped it the second Quasar handed it to him. "If it comes down to it, I'm using my shotgun."

Before anybody could say anything else, a man with a flashlight shined the light directly into Quasar's face. "Hey, man," he said. "What gives?"

"You're camping outside of my compound with guns," the man responded.

"Your compound?" Katherine demanded. "Well, if it's _your_ compound–"

"Sir, hey," Elizabeth interrupted. "Hi. We're just a couple of drunkards leaving The Square," she said. "Look at how drunk this guy is." She placed a fist against Quasar's shoulder and gave him a light push.

"Drunk as ever!" announced Quasar. "Can't even stand." He found the nearest wall and then immediately leaned against it.

The man shined the light in Elizabeth's face. "You're going to need to leave," he told her. "Or I'm going to shoot you." Elizabeth didn't move, and the man with the flashlight pulled out a 10mm pistol and jammed it into Elizabeth's stomach. "Or you could stay here, and I could bring out a group of my friends."

"Get away from her." Jack pulled his shotgun out in one smooth motion.

"Jack, I can handle this. Put it away," Elizabeth warned. "Look, mister," she said to the man holding a gun to her stomach. "We'll go."

Jack slowly put his shotgun away.

"I think you four owe me and my friends something for my troubles," the man informed the group. "Which of you four do you think would go for the most?" he asked Elizabeth.

Quasar replied for her. "Obviously me. I mean, look at me."

The man looked him up and down, as if he were a piece of meat.

"Roguishly handsome? Or handsomely roguish?" Before the man could respond to Quasar's question, Quasar continued. "But given that you're a slaver and all, I'd say that I'm a few years too old for you."

The man took his gun away from Elizabeth and turned his entire body towards Quasar. "What the fuck did you say?"

"Quasar, don't," Elizabeth took a step towards the man, and he shoved his pistol in Elizabeth's direction again. She stepped back.

"I'm twenty eight," said Quasar. "Would you have wanted to fuck me twenty years ago? I mean, that's what these guys do," he told Jack. "Fuck little boys."

A vein in the man's forehead began to bulge. "You know what?" the man said. "I think instead of taking any of you in, I'm just going to shove this gun up your ass and unload it."

"Is that what you do to eight year old boys?"

The man grabbed Quasar's jacket and violently turned him around. He put his pistol against Quasar's lower back and the other three were at a temporary loss of what to do.

Katherine looked at Elizabeth, who nervously shook her head and mouthed, _I don't know._ "Mister," Elizabeth said. "Sir. Man. Mister. Don't."

"Look!" The man shoved Quasar to the ground and turned around. "I did _not_ come out here to have some pretty boy be a pain in my ass."

"You think I'm pretty?" Quasar asked from the ground. "There are four of us," he said. "You're a big dude, but you're definitely not four dudes big."

"Quasar stop," Elizabeth said. "Don't say any more words."

"I bet you don't have sex with children," Katherine said. "But I also bet you're not man enough to come take on a real woman."

The man took a determined step towards Katherine and said, "Once I murder that asshole I'll show you what I can take on." But he never got a chance. Jack emptied his shotgun's chamber forcefully and loudly into the slaver.

"We have a child to find," said Jack. "We don't need this."

Quasar pushed himself off of the ground. "I was not worried – not for a second. See how well my plan worked?"

"That man was definitely about to put a gun up your ass, you know?" Katherine informed him.

Quasar shrugged. "A fantasy of mine," he jested. "Thanks Jack. I owe you one."

Jack nodded.

"Let's go," Katherine pulled her guns back out of her holsters. "No more bullshit."

* * *

The shotgun blast that took out the slaver had alerted the rest of the hub to the group's presence, which was unfortunate, but it wasn't going to ruin their plan.

"You know," Quasar said to Elizabeth. "If I didn't accuse him of banging kids, who would?"

Elizabeth just smiled at him. "If I ever need to accuse someone of banging kids, I'll call you up."

"What if I get murdered by a slaver?"

"Then I guess I'll do it myself, then?" she offered. "Hey, guys, stop walking. There's a service entrance to this place," she explained. "It used to be a hospital, I think. All pre-war hospitals built during the 21st century have service entrances."

"They do," agreed Jack. "But don't they have a hell of a security system?"

"You think a bunch of slavers know how to rig a security system better than I know how to hack into it?" Elizabeth asked. "The answer is no. Let's go."

The service entrance was unguarded, for the most part, but Katherine easily shot each of the two guards. The service door was magnetically sealed made of heavy metal, with a terminal attached to it. "Can you break into it?" Quasar asked her.

"Probably." Elizabeth pulled out the keyboard and turned on the terminal. She typed in something, and then mouthed the next word. "Alright," she sighed into the terminal. She hit the enter key another time, and then whispered the words as she typed them. Everything was silent except for her.

She clicked the enter key, and then the terminal whirred and the door unclicked. "Ha!" she announced. "Let's go."

Jack pushed the door open, and said, "You know there are silent alarms in these places?"

"Disabled," Elizabeth responded. "Don't worry. Now, there's a kid who needs us." She finally pulled out her plasma pistol, and the group began to make their way though the service entrance.

"So." Katherine jogged up to walk next to Elizabeth. "Where did you learn that? The science hacking?"

"My dad taught me," Elizabeth replied. "I grew up around technology like that."

"Under Boston in a white house?" Katherine recalled. "A white science house." She stopped walking for half a second, and then announced, "Fuck – a lab! A white science house is a lab!"

"Katherine, if we both make it out in one piece, I'll buy the four of us drinks and I'll tell you about where I grew up."

Quasar chimed in, "What are we talking about?"

"Science," said Elizabeth. "You know – computers. Control, alt, delete. Fascinating stuff."

"Service tunnel ends here," Jack announced. "Ready your weapons." He drew his shotgun, and the rest of the group did the same with their weapons: Elizabeth with a plasma pistol, Katherine with duel .44s, and Quasar with his shishkebab.

They opened the door to the slaver hub, and a confused guy in no shirt and a bandana nearly fell out of his chair. "Who authorized –"

Jack took two long steps and jammed his shotgun into the shirtless guy's face. "There's a child. Where is he?"

"Wait, dude, don't –" The man scrambled for his own gun, and Jack slammed his gun into the man's nose, breaking it. "Okay!" he shrieked, covering his nose with both hands. "Don't!" blood was leaking from his nose, spilling between his fingers. "Down the hall to the left. Room 24! Don't kill me!"

Jack thought for a second, and then said, "Have you ever raped anyone? A kid? A girl?"

"Rape – what – no!" The man was lying on his side, and blood was pooling under his head on the ground "I'm not that kind of guy! I'm just in it for the money!" His voice was shaking. "I just needed the money!" His entire body was shaking as well.

"Alright," said Jack, right before he blasted the man's left kneecap off. Jack was already out the door, into the hallway, before the man even started screaming.

Quasar was going to say something, but his words were muted by the screams, and so he just popped out into the hallway too, shutting the door behind him. "Room 24!" he reminded Jack.

They made it only a few steps before an alarm began to whirr.

"I thought the alarms here were silent!" Quasar said to Jack.

"I just shot a man in the leg, that's not a silent matter."

A group of slavers pooled into the hall. "Hands above your head!" said a woman with a Mohawk and a submachine gun. "Kill the boys, throw the girls in Room 24."

The squad was in the middle of a standoff with the slavers, guns raised on both ends of the hall.

"Actually." The woman looked Quasar up and down, and said, "You can leave the boy in the combat armor alive."

Quasar looked at Elizabeth and said, "see? Everybody wants me." But she didn't hear him. She was much too invested in the frag grenade Jack was about to lob into the group of slavers.

"Go!" Jack said. Several guns when off at once when the grenade landed in the middle of the group, and the next few moments were chaos. Jack barely managed to pull Quasar out of the blast range, and Katherine and Elizabeth had both sprinted down the hall to avoid getting hurt. "We get into room 24, get the kid, and get out," he said.

This was a plan everybody was eager to follow.

"Jack, you gonna stick around after this?" Katherine asked.

He was silent for a moment, and then he nodded. "We can get some drinks with the money the kid's mom gives us."

* * *

 **Section Two: David, Sarah, the introduction of Camisha, and the introduction of Coltrane**

David was drinking something from a flask, and Sarah was fiddling with a piece of electronics David didn't recognize. It could have been a radio, but it was so mangled he wasn't sure. She talked too much, and he talked too little, and for some reason the companionship worked.

"Sarah?" David asked.

"David!" Sarah responded.

"Who do you think knows how to repair synthetic human? Wouldn't your best bet be the Institute in Boston?"

Sarah responded by shaking her head quickly. "No, no," she explained. "They would memory wipe and enslave me."

"Oh," said David. "The best place in these wastes I know of is an old vault called 113."

"Who's there?"

"Well," he said. "Usually scientists go there to scavenge. Maybe you'd run into a scientist there?"

She tugged at the collar of her armored jumpsuit. "Maybe! I hope so, but East coast scientists don't know how to do stuff to synths. Nobody's ever even seen them."

"That's a real shame for you, yeah?" David took a swig from his flask.

"Yeah," she said. "I would be able to do it myself, but synths' programming doesn't let them," she explained. "The Institute scientists didn't ever want to make somebody smarter than them."

"How old are you?"

"Well, 23," she said, slightly unsure. "But I don't really know. Not when I was made, I mean. I don't know. When were you made? I mean, how old… are you?"

"32," he laughed. "I'm 32."

"Did anybody where you're from know how to work on synths?"

He shook his head. "We were a couple of soldiers," he said. "Rangers," he corrected himself. "A couple of rangers."

"I worked with soldiers once."

"A lifetime ago, right?" David offered her a drink, but she held up a hand.

"I can't get drunk," she told him.

"What kind of soldiers?" he asked her. "NCR?"

"Brotherhood," she replied. "Of steel. B.o.S."

"Good men," David told her. "They were noble when I knew them in Nevada. Don't quite know what became of them in the commonwealth, but good men when I knew them."

"They let me repair things. I liked it. But then they found out I was a synth and scrambled my circuits trying to kill me," she told him. Then she offered him whatever she had just fixed. "It's a two way radio," she told him. "Walkie talkie. Just in case. I'll work on the other one right now."

He took it from her. "Thank you, Sarah," he said. They made brief eye contact, and then he followed up with, "Kill you? What happens to a synth when they die? Where do they go?"

Sarah shrugged and pulled the other Walkie Talkie from her bag. "Do you know where humans go when they die? Could be the same place. Could be no place at all. I'm not trying to find out." She paused. "We'll get there eventually."

David smiled at the girl, somewhat perplexed. He was nine years her senior, although he wasn't sure how long she'd really been 'in commission'. "I'll drink to that."

A woman with brown hair pulled back into a messy bun was sitting at an outdoor table in The Park, a large plot of land in the middle of the Liberty Wastes with now–overgrown trees and irradiated lakes filled with mirelurks.

She had olive skin, and she was sitting across from a ghoul with . They were playing a pre-war game called Chess, which the ghoul had learned before the war, and which the woman, Camisha, had learned in the vault she came from.

Her brown eyes looked at him, and then back to the table. She played chess non-stop as a child, but something told her this ghoul did too.

She moved a piece with her right hand, which was curiously missing its ring finger. She had a matching part of her right earlobe missing, and the ghoul figured he'd best not ask. She had a young face, sunken eyes, and freckles on her nose and cheeks. She moved her knight.

He placed a finger on his queen and looked at the board. He scooted the piece left a couple of squares. His eyes were gunmetal blue, faded and tired, and they were looking at G5. "Where did you learn?" he asked. His voice was scratchy and deep.

"A vault," she replied. "Did you learn pre-war?"

"I did," he said. They both moved a few pieces, and he took a sip of Nuka Cola. He was tall, at least six inches taller than Camisha, who was 5' 6". "I'm one old son a bitch."

"I really like pre-war music," she told him.

"Me too. I was in a jazz band," he told her. "I was the keyboard player." His hair was fuller than most ghouls', being short and platinum blond. It may have been that color pre-war, but Camisha wasn't sure. In fact, she didn't even know if it was white or just very blond. He had facial hair the same color, sporting a trimmed platinum beard.

"Did you like Dion?"

"Well, sure," he replied. "Bill Evans, Trio" he added. "Cool jazz. _A Waltz For Debbie_." He smiled, moved his pawn, and then said, "checkmate."

Camisha laughed and shook his gloved hand. He was wearing black gloves, black pants, black boots that were too nice to be combat boots, and a white dress shirt. He had on a fur battlecoat to top it off.

Meanwhile, she wore a vault 85 jumpsuit with the sleeves cut off. She had on a light brown puffer vest and yellow hand wraps. The most notable thing about her was the aluminum bat slung over her back. The ghoul's weapon was over his back too; it was a submachine gun.

"Did you ever give me your name?" she asked.

"Coltrane," he told her.

"As in John?"

"As in John," he agreed. "Figured people could call me whatever I wanted them to. My name used to be something else, but I'm so old. Could have been Camisha too, for all I can remember."

"Well, I think Coltrane suits you. Where you headed next?"

"An old Vault-Tec office building was turned into this club, and they're always looking to hire pianists. That's how I make my money nowadays. Just an old ghoul who likes to play music."

"Do you know how to fight at all?" she asked him.

"Well," he said. "I've always been more of a lover. They stuck me in the Great War, gave me a suit of power armor, and told me to kill as many people as I could count. I didn't like it much, but my old armor had this jetpack. Pre-war folks loved a pretty blond boy with a piano and a jetpack."

"Aren't you worried you'll get hurt out here?" she asked him.

"Ghouls and mutants don't bother me. Slavers don't especially want me. I don't know, Cam," he said. "Nobody's ever put real effort into blowing my ghoul brains out of my head."

"I'll go to the bar with you," she offered. "I've always loved pre-war music, and I've obviously never seen a live pre-war musician."

* * *

 _Tech's_ , the old Vault Tec office building that had been restored and converted into a bar, was dimly lit, filled with laughter, and full of well-dressed wastelanders. Coltrane checked his coat, which revealed that under his coat he wore a full black suit with black shoes. He buttoned his blazer, which Camisha hadn't seen under the coat, since the coat was heavy and his blazer was unbuttoned. He slipped a red tie from his back pocket and looped it around his neck.

He advised Camisha to dress nicely, so she changed into a purple sequined dress and then checked her bag as well.

There was no music playing, but there was a piano in the bar, currently being unused. "I'm going to find the owner," he told her. He waved over the bartender, who was a young man in a dress shirt and smart pants.

"Don't see your kind much," he said to Coltrane. "At least you don't smell," he told the ghoul. "Sometimes you do," he added.

"Two Nevada Mules," Coltrane said. "I use cologne."

The bartender shrugged to himself and then poured the drinks – Sunset Sarsaparilla and vodka. He pushed them over to Camisha and Coltrane, and the latter took his with him to go find the owner after throwing ten caps onto the counter.

* * *

David was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, and a leather jacket. His hair was slicked back, and he wasn't wearing his bandana. Sarah was wearing a utility jumpsuit, which got her a few odd looks from the bar's clientele.

The two sat together at the bar. Sarah was drinking a plain Nuka Cola, since her programming didn't allow her to get drunk, and David was just drinking neat whiskey.

"I've never seen a live piano player," said Sarah.

David had, but he was always down to listen to live music. "It's good," he told her. "Look." He gestured to the older ghoul in black sitting at the piano. The ghoul stretched out his fingers and began to play _My Foolish Heart._

Camisha watched him from across the bar. He started with a B flat major7 chord, using the fifth as the harmony. He dropped his left hand and right thumb down to play an E flat major7. Then, he danced his fingers up in an ascending arpeggio of a B flat chord to a Dminor7. Camisha, David, and Sarah all watched the piano player hit new chords, his fingers moving up and down the keyboard slowly.

After his first five minute song, the patrons at the bar clapped for him and he stood up to grab another drink before his next song. "Hey Cam," he said to his companion. "Good?"

"Really good," she agreed.

"Cam, I don't know where you're headed after this, but I need someone who knows how to handle themselves out there. I'm going downtown after this," he told her.

"Downtown?" she asked, incredulous. "An old ghoul like you wouldn't last."

"Vault 113," he replied. "Is rumored to have a sea of scrap electronics. Rumored to have some electric keyboards. That way, I can play more, and I don't need a bar with a piano."

"Mister," David said, after he overheard. "I'm headed that way. Me and my friend." He gestured to Sarah. "You need an armed escort?"

"Well," Coltrane thought out loud. "I need a drinking buddy. Good company. 'Armed escort' doesn't quite sound like the kind of drinking buddy I need. Your friend is staring."

David whispered, "She was Brotherhood."

"Sometimes I forget I'm ugly," said Coltrane. "That's alright. If you want to be good company, I'll travel down with you two."

"David," said Sarah. "We're less likely to get attacked by slavers if we have a ghoul. They don't like ghouls. Doesn't matter if you have a pretty girl." She pointed at herself. "Two pretty girls." She pointed at Camisha. "Doesn't matter. All they see is a tall ghoul with white hair."

David thought about this, and Coltrane said to Camisha, "Sometimes women only want you for your looks." Camisha smiled at his joke.

"I'll go downtown with you," she told him.

"We should too," Sarah said.

"I'm glad we're all in agreement." Coltrane said. "I need to do another song. See you guys."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Leave a review telling me what you thought, and I really appreciate interactive reviewers, so definitely tell me what your OC would think/thinks of the other OCs in the story so I can get a better grasp of future character interaction.**


	4. Chapter 3: Backstories and Outlaws

**Hey everyone. Sorry this took so long – I've been studying and taking midterms, and I also got mono around two months ago, and I'm just getting over that. As of writing this note, I am home sick with a fever.**

 **Anyway, I'm going to introduce two characters, and then I think that's going to be it for introductions. I think I'm going to add a few more characters next chapter, but after that I don't know if I'm going to add anybody else, but if I do it's going to have to be a very interesting and unique character. We'll see! Every now and then I'll definitely offer the opportunity to submit a character for the role of a villain/slaver/specific side character.**

 **Section One: Introduction of Svetlana Bishop and James Morgan**

* * *

James Morgan was a lot of things, but first and foremost: he was one intimidating son of a bitch. At 6' 3", his large black hat and matching bounty hunter duster certainly didn't seem passive, and the katana he had slung over his back only served to heighten his daunting presence. He was at Grand City, sitting at the bar and looking at a black and white sketch of a man called Javael.

The man in the photograph was wanted 2,000 caps dead, and 3,500 alive, and the reward was one that highly interested James.

James silently slipped over caps and stood up. He folded the picture and slipped it into a pocket of his jacket. He picked up the neat whiskey he had ordered, and then funneled it into his flask. The bartender almost said something, but decided it was better not to.

Under his hat, he was blond, with pale blue eyes and blond stubble. His nose was Roman and there were freckles between his eyes. "Say," he said to the bartender. "Where can I get a good sharpener around here?"

"Sharpener?" asked the bartender.

"Like a whetstone. For my blade. Know any blacksmiths?"

"I, uh." He wiped down the table while thinking. "No."

James said nothing more, realizing this boy was not well learned, nor was he well travelled. He gathered himself and made his was to the hotel rooms, where his partner – an old friend – was also staying.

He opened the door to their shared room with twin beds and a bottle of wine. "Svet," he greeted her. "A couple at a diner saw Evans not so long ago," he told her, referring to Javael Evans. "He told them about a vault."

Svetlana stood. She towered over most people, even James, being 2 inches taller than him. "The ghouls?" she asked. "Those ugly bastards have mush for brains," she told him. "Can't trust a word out of their mouths." She was thin, lean, and wore black hair in bun and leather armor. "Why would Evans tell them anything?"

"Man loves to talk," said James. "Probably fucked a ghoul or two in his day."

"That's repulsive," she informed her companion.

He grinned. "Javael is interesting," he said. "Before you snap his neck, he's the kind of guy I want to talk to. Don't you want to hear his story? How do you think that son of a bitch ended up like he is?"

Svetlana shrugged.

"Well, I don't know either. We'd have to ask him."

"James," Svetlana said. "Which vault?"

James thought, lifting his hat for a moment to ruffle dark blond hair. "113. It's a science vault."

"The one with all of the doctors and the physicists. And the politicians." She gave a little smile – an inside joke with herself, perhaps – and walked out. James gathered his things and followed.

James suggested that on their way downtown, they stop at Union Square.

"Why?" Svet asked.

James' hands were in his pockets, but he was still alert enough to pull his katakana out at any moment. " _The Strand_. It's a prewar bookstore."

She gave her travelling companion a small smile. The man – tall, clever, and determined – was more scholarly than he let on sometimes. Or maybe he just liked books. He liked _The Road_ ; it was an Odyssey of sorts – apocalyptic and relatable. He also liked _No Country For Old Men_ by the same author, but hadn't read it in a long, long while. He'd almost forgotten about the character Anton Chigurh.

He fixed his hat and pocketed his hands again. "Do you think," he said to Svetlana. "That Javael knows how to read?"

"Most people don't," she responded. "The people who don't, I often find, aren't worth the time of day."

"I find that too," James agreed.

* * *

 **Section Two: Jonathan and the introduction of Javael Evans**

* * *

Drinking was easy – easier than talking to the woman at the bar, easier than tipping the bad singer, and easier than making small talk with the short man trying to collect cash. At least, drinking was easy than all that to Jonathan. Some people were giving him funny looks, since he was at an arguably nice bar in full desert ranger combat gear.

He looked over at the door when a man in an obnoxious suit walked in. He took another sip of the scotch in front of him.

"You want another round, buddy?" the bartender offered. "You seem lost," he said.

"What?" Jonathan's deep blue eyes and black stubble gave him that appearance. "Oh," he thought about it for a second. "You could say that. I think I'll just have a sarsaparilla and then call it a night."

"Sure." The bartender pushed him a bottle of sarsaparilla. " I hope you find out what you're looking for."

Jonathan was too tired and buzzed to say something back, so he nodded. It was getting late. He looked at the door as another man entered. The man was slim, yet muscular, and 6' 2". His hair was short on the sides, and dark brown at the roots, but bleach blonde at the tips. The first thing Jonathan noticed was the man's eyes, which were sea green and deep blue. He had the letters L.G tattooed on his neck.

Everybody's eyes were immediately on this pretty man in a red hoodie.

"Hi," he said. He looked around, and Jonathan immediately read the hostility in everyone's bodies, but he wasn't sure why.

"He's armed and dangerous. Wanted." The bartender whispered quietly. "Some folks call him –"

"Javael Evans! But since we're friends, you can call me Cliff," the man overheard. He watched Jonathan stand and shuffle into a position where he could slide his sniper off of his back if he needed to. "Hey," offered Javael. "I'm just here to wet my whistle." When the hostility died down, Javael took a long stride towards Jonathan.

Jonathan moved to grab the sunset sarsaparilla bottle to slam it over Javael, but he stopped when instead of pulling out a gun, Javael kissed him on the lips. It was a short kiss with no tongue and Jonathan coughed when Javael pulled away.

He was leaning over Jonathan, grabbed his sunset sarsaparilla, and took a sip. "Do I seem like a killer to you?"

"Um. A gay one, maybe?" Jonathan didn't think this man was dangerous, but he was certainly odd.

When Javael put a hand on Jonathan's thigh, Jonathan pushed him off immediately.

"Okay," said Jonathan. "I'm not… that… don't do that."

Javael pulled a way and laughed. "I guess we're not a fun group of patrons. Ignore that bounty. I didn't do anything that bad." He turned around and walked out with Jonathan's drink.

Jonathan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and coughed. "I did not enjoy that," he told the bartender. "At all."

The bartender said, "I, uh, you can have the… next one on the house." He poured Jonathan a whiskey. "That man _is_ wanted, though. He's rumored to do that. Kiss people. Guys, girls, ghouls, he doesn't give half a shit."

Jonathan drank his whiskey. "Oh."

* * *

 **Section Three: Elizabeth, Katherine, Jack, and Quasar**

* * *

Jack was sleeping in a chair in boxers and a t-shirt. Quasar was on the ground in his black t-shirt and briefs, passed out from the previous night. Katherine was fully clothed in a tank top and long johns on the bed, and Elizabeth was on the ground in a large t-shirt with her head unintentionally on Quasar's left arm.

Jack woke up first. He pushed himself out of the chair, tiptoed over Elizabeth and Quasar to use the bathroom, sat down on the ground, and downed a can of purified water in his bag.

Elizabeth woke up second. She lifted her head off of Quasar, looked at him, and then fumbled to stand up. She got to the bathroom and washed her face with whatever water came out of the sink, and brushed her teeth with the same water.

"You're going to get radiation poisoning," Jack told her.

"Ah, I don't… get that…" Elizabeth told him. She filled her water bottle up with it too, and then sat next to Jack against the wall.

"Tell me something," Jack said.

"Yeah?"

"Where are you from? Who are you?"

"How about," Elizabeth offered. "Next time we're all awake and doing shots, we can all tell each other about our lives."

"I think we're not going to be doing shots for quite some time, since Vault 113 is barely 20 blocks away from here," Jack responded.

"I know that," said Elizabeth. "I just didn't think you did."

Jack laughed.

Quasar piped up. "What's funny?" he asked. He popped up and woke Katherine with his voice. She groaned and turned over.

"We're almost at the vault," said Jack. "So I think it's high time we talked about ourselves."

"Good idea!" said Quasar, who started to wonder who was looking at his bulge. He sat across from Jack and Elizabeth. "We're like a team… Team Q.E.J.K. Quejck?" What about… Jekq? Or should my name be first?"

Katherine crawled out of bed and sat next to Quasar. "Who wants to go first, then?"

"I lived in this gated estate called Ten Pines," said Quasar. "I was a rich boy. But when I was nine this raider gang got in and burned my father alive and injured. A ghoul named Grissom showed up and killed my mother. I mean, she was in pain so he did the right thing…." Quasar thought about it. "He raised me until I found out he kind of helped the raiders massacre Ten Pines. I killed him… I've been in New York ever since…" He wondered if it was too early to take a shot.

"You want a drink?" Jack offered.

"It's 9:30am," said Elizabeth.

"Alright…" Jack paused. "You want a mimosa?"

Quasar laughed and shook his head. "It was kind of wild. I was your quintessential rich boy for the first 9 years of my life, but nowadays people can't really have nice things."

"Is that why you're named Quasar?" Katherine inquired. "Fancy rich name?"

"A quasar is a region in space that emits electromagnetic energy," said Elizabeth. "Surrounding a black hole. They're something like the brightest objects in the universe."

"Sounds like him." Jack pointed a thumb at Quasar.

Quasar gave a shrug and a smile.

"How's that spelled?" Katherine asked.

"Q.U.A.S.A.R" he told her. "Yeah." He scratched his head. "It's not a rich name, per-se, it's kind of like naming your kid after an object. Like Apple."

"Rich Apple," Jack told him.

"Alright, yes, your turn Liz," he told Elizabeth.

Elizabeth stretched her arms. "Okay," she said.

"Okay?" Katherine raised an eyebrow.

"Yep. My parents were Institute scientists, so I lived there for a while. Then they felt bad about the whole 'synth slavery' thing, so they tried to free some synths and leave. Of course, they didn't get very far, but this 'defective' courser grabbed me and warped me onto ground level before the rest of the coursers could blow us to bits."

"Christ," said Jack.

"They blew the courser's left leg off, and they blew my right arm and some of my torso off. Fortunately, that dumbass – designation X5-11 – got us in the middle of this hospital in New Vegas. I was sixteen, armless and confused. The courser had to use a crutch, and I renamed him Harold. I built the new arm with some Railroad scientists sometime later. I didn't want to stick around, so I started working some odd jobs, trying to put everything I knew about science to use. I got to New York a few weeks ago."

"What happened to him?" asked Jack.

"Harold?"

"Yeah, the courser."

"He short circuited when we ran into a Mirelurk Queen," she sighed. "He was basically my cool uncle…" She took a sip of water. "Also, that explosion blew out my appendix, sort of, and now it's a wad of metal that filters radiation out of things."

"That's wild," Quasar said. "Yeah, no wonder you don't tell people that."

"Ey, it's just life," she offered. "Is anybody else feeling breakfast?"

"Yes," said Quasar. "But not after Jack and Katherine go."

Elizabeth smiled and sighed. They were like prewar kids playing 'truth or dare', and she missed that stage of her childhood. For the most part, they all did. Also, they were all in pajamas, and Elizabeth wasn't even wearing pants _. 'I told my entire life story in underwear and t-shirt_ ,' she thought. ' _This carpet is probably going to give me gonorrhea.'_

"I grew up in a small community, and we treated a wounded man once. He offered to go back to his settlement and get us supplies, so my father agreed and went with him. When he came back my father was dead and he had a group of bandits and slavers with him. They massacred my settlement. A bit like they did yours," he told Quasar. "They took the children – I was six – and the women. The women were practically cattle to them - even the female slavers didn't bat an eye."

The other three were engrossed in his story.

"Well, I was six, so I didn't understand until years later what they did to my mom. I knew she didn't like it, how they raped her, but I didn't know what it was. Not really." He scratched his head and thought. "I was sold to a woman named Red, and I was fifteen when I shot her with her own gun and escaped. That gun." He referred to the shotgun he used.

"Did she die?" Katherine asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. I didn't stick around," Jack explained.

"What did she do to you?" Katherine asked.

Jack scratched his head. "She was an asshole, is all. That's all I have to say. What about you, Katherine?"

Katherine began. "Well, I grew up on this farm. I was a middle child out of five. My parents were strict and I was a bad kid, so they beat me a little. One day, wanderer blew in and stayed with us for a while. She told some pretty damn good stories about New York, and when I was sixteen, I stole my parents' life savings and rifles and high-tailed it out of there."

"We've all had quite some life," said Quasar.

"Here's to us," Elizabeth raised her water bottle.

"To us," agreed Jack.

* * *

 **Section Four: Dante and Jonathan (again)**

* * *

There certainly was a bounty on Javael, Jonathan realized when he was at a local Waystation with a board of bounties. He had moved down to the subway station, making his way through the 6 train's old path, which was somewhat overrun with feral ghouls. He was heading downtown in an attempt to follow Javael and collect the bounty.

There was a banging behind him, and Jonathan turned around quickly, pulling out his sniper. "Who is it?" he demanded.

A young man with dark brown hair in a bun emerged from the darkness. He had a ranger sequoia and an NCR ranger coat over army pants and a t-shirt. He recognized the other man's outfit immediately, but was weary, given that Jonathan could have taken desert ranger gear off of a dead soldier.

"Are you NCR?" Jonathan called.

"Used to be," said Dante warily. "Hurricane," he offered a code word.

"I was never NCR," said Jonathan. "I was a ranger, though." He kept his gun aimed at Dante. "Halo," he offered the password to the code.

Dante lowered his gun slightly. "What's a desert ranger doing out here?"

"I could ask the same of an NCR one."

"I'm ex NCR. The legion got me one day and the NCR forgot to look for me. I'm looking for a wanted man."

Jonathan cocked his head. "Javael Evans?"

Dante nodded sharply.

"Think a desert ranger and an NCR one can work together to stop a lunatic?"

Dante thought for a long moment before saying, "the bear has two heads."

* * *

 **Okay, so next chapter will focus on Jonathan and Dante's hunt for Javael, as well as Svetlana and James' hunt for him too.**

 **If you think your character would be romantically interested in another one, PM it to me or comment and I'll see what I can do.**

 **Also, sorry if there are any grammatical errors here, it's very late at night but I wanted to get this chapter up ASAP.**


	5. Chapter 4: Going Downtown

**Hey everyone, thank you so much for your support and reviews. I'm going to try and update more frequently, but I'm not sure. Either way, I'll try.**

* * *

 **Section One: Jonathan and Dante**

* * *

"So," said Jonathan. He was tapping his foot against the ground, and the two men had gotten to the Union Square subway station, which had been repurposed into a small outpost for travellers. He was drinking a dirty wastelander that had been brewed on sight. "Do you want…?"

"I'm good for now," said Dante. He shuffled. Dante's coat was not on; it was lying behind him, draped over the bench he and Jonathan were sitting on. On his left forearm, Jonathan noticed that Dante had a bull's head and horns.

"You have a Ranger Sequoia." Jonathan commented after a second. "But you're too young to be a veteran of 20 years."

"Yeah," Dante said. "It wasn't mine. It was my squad leader's, but there was an ambush. Didn't need it anymore after that, you know?"

Jonathan took in this information and then nodded. He scratched his head, running a hand through long, dark hair. "Sorry about your squad leader."

"That's alright," Dante offered.

"So," said Jonathan. "What are you doing in the city?"

"What am I doing in the city?"

"Yeah. You know, what brings you here? Family? A girl? New Vegas is a long way away," Jonathan elaborated, taking a sip of his drink.

"I guess," said Dante. "I have nowhere else to be. Just trying to find my way around. Do you want to play a hand of caravan?"

"My deck is old, and just a regular set of 52," said Jonathan. "But I'm a damn good player, so I think I can still do pretty well."

"I mean…" Dante fished for his deck. "Compared to New York players, maybe. But I am an _authentic_ caravan player from Nevada."

"Not as authentic as me." Jonathan pulled his own deck out. "Let's get a table."

The pair made their way over to a dining table meant for eating and got ready to play a round of caravan.

The game lasted a while, but in the end Jonathan beat Dante by playing a joker, which Dante didn't even keep in his deck.

They laughed and pocketed their decks again.

"So," said Jonathan. "Should we move on?"

Dante thought about it and then said, "There's a notice board here. We can look at the bounties and odd jobs before we move on."

"Oh," Jonathan replied. "Yeah, sure." He thought. "Sure," he said again. "Do you have any ideas? About the odd jobs, and everything?"

"Yeah," said Dante. "Andrew Collier. This guy was too violent for the slavers, and they wouldn't let him be one," he informed the other man. "Now he hangs out in a wrecked 2 train with a gang of people like him."

"How come nobody's stopped him yet?" asked Jonathan.

"Nobody wants to deal with him," Dante guessed. He pulled his hair, which was at his shoulders, into a bun, and slipped a ponytail holder off of the wrist with the bull tattoo. A woman with dark hair noticed him and winked, and he gave her a smile back.

"Are you going to answer?" Jonathan asked, as if it were a phonecall. "I mean, you know? Sex?"

Dante gave a short bout of laughter. "No," he admitted. "Did you get out much as a kid?"

"Kind of?" Jonathan mumbled. "Kind of." He stood up. "Let's go," he offered, and they both started to make their way towards the staircase.

* * *

Andrew Collier was older than most people still alive in the wasteland. He was in his early 40s. He was sitting in an old subway car, casually turning a knife in between his hands. He was thin, with a thin, scarred face, and salt and pepper hair and beard. He had a cigar in his mouth as well, and he would occasionally stop touching the knife and blow out smoke.

A hefty man in raider leathers walked into the subway car. "Hey," he rasped.

"Hey," Andrew blew out smoke. "Can I do something for you, Slim?"

"That one bitch we hijacked from the slavers," said Slim. "I want her. I want to put my dick in her. Now."

Andrew was grinning, but he evidently did not appreciate the command. "Rephrase that, Slim."

Slim frowned. "I want to put my dick in her. How about it, Collier?"

Andrew stood and stretched his arms, the cigar dangling from his lips. "That lady?" he asked. "That fine fucking lady with the nice ass?"

"The nice ass," agreed Slim.

Andrew took the cigar out of his mouth and handed it to Slim. "You think I'm going to let you put your dick anywhere near that fine ass?" he demanded. He put a hand behind Slim's neck and pulled him close to his face. "You're an idiot."

"I just thought –" Slim began, but Andrew took his knife to Slim's throat and pressed it as hard as he could. Slim began to spit blood onto the ground, and blood spurted from his neck and onto Andrew. Andrew let go and threw Slim onto the ground, the man writhing and grabbing his wet throat to try and make the bleeding stop.

"You dumb, fat, fuck," sighed Andrew. He wiped his knife on Slim's clothes and walked out of the subway car.

* * *

New York rumor had it that the closer you got to Brooklyn, the more you had to worry about getting kidnapped and sold by a slaver. New York had many problems, but the slaver epidemic was by far the worst.

Dante and Jonathan were nearing Brooklyn, creeping down the sidewalk on their way to the Astor Place subway entrance. "It's quiet down here," said Dante.

"No," disagreed Jonathan. "Listen." They both stopped walking. "There are screams coming from below us."

Dante listened carefully, and then he heard it. "What is that? Is that Collier?"

"It's a woman," said Jonathan. "I…" He kneeled by a grate to hear the subway tracks better. "I think it's a woman dying?"

"It's a what?" Dante demanded. "Fuck that, we have to stop it. We have to get down there and make her… less dying! I don't know! Don't just stand there and look at the subway grate like that while somebody is killing somebody else down there! And it's not right!"

Jonathan pushed hair out of his face. "Right, yeah, let's go. But we can't rush in and be reckless. This guy has a high bounty for a reason."

Dante drew his sequoia, and Jonathan pulled out Peacekeeper, his sniper. "Do you want me to cover you?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah."

The two found the entrance to the subway station and stepped down into the subway. It wasn't lit at all except for flickering bulbs lining the ceiling. Blood was ominously caked on the walls.

They came upon a man without a shirt sleeping. He was ratty and holding jet in one hand. Dante kicked him awake.

The little ratty man coughed himself awake and hit Dante's pant leg with his palm. "Hey?" he said. "Hey…" He put the jet inhaler to his mouth and pressed the top. "You new?"

"No," said Dante.

"Oh," said the ratty man. "Oh! You the dealers?"

"Yeah," Jonathan lied. "I'm new in town. I have a hell of a stash, but I need to see Andrew."

The ratty man sniffled. "Does he want to see you?"

"Probably," said Jonathan. "There's a woman here, isn't there?"

"Andrew is in the third car down, boys," said the man. He immediately went back to sleep, and the jet rolled out of his hand.

"It can't be this easy," Jonathan told Dante. They looked down the subway tunnel and noticed the wrecked subway cars in the distance. They watched two men in raider clothing come out into the tunnel.

Dante crept towards them, and Jonathan stayed back and aimed his weapon. Dante put a bullet into the left one, and Jonathan fired into the one on the right. The noise rung throughout the subway station, and this prompted more raiders to come out.

Dante was firing into everybody who game out, and Jonathan was covering him from several meters back. One raider got an upper hand and put a bullet into Dante's left shoulder. Dante grunted, but fired more with his right hand.

Eventually, raiders stopped coming out. Around seven had come out in total.

Then, Andrew walked out, and fired into Dante's leg before Dante fired back. Dante fell to his knee, and tried to steady himself on the ground, but Andrew kicked him in the chest and sent him tumbling back.

"Can I fucking help you?" Andrew demanded. He pulled Dante onto his good leg and shoved him in front of him so Jonathan could not fire at him. "Most of my boys like girls," he told Dante quietly. "But some would like you more. Is your partner as pretty as you?"

"John…" Dante rasped. "John…" He tried to hit Andrew with his good arm. He could have taken this man one-on-one, but the bullet he had taken in the arm before already had him lightheaded.

"John!" Andrew called. He dropped Dante to the ground and pulled out his knife. Then, he rested the tip of the knife against the back of Dante's neck. "I like your gun," he told Dante. "Maybe I'll take it. Maybe I'll fuck a woman with it. They like that."

"Maybe," Dante grumbled. "You're just compensating."

Andrew's grin immediately fell into a scowl. He pulled the knife back and held it above his head, ready to bring it down into Dante's neck.

Jonathan took this moment to fire into Andrew's chest twice. He fell to the ground, next to Dante, who was kneeling and bloody.

"Dante!" Jonathan called. "Hey, you alright?"

Dante was holding his arm, and he said, "I'll make it. Thanks. Give me a stimpak?"

* * *

 **Section Two: Svetlana and James**

* * *

James' hat was hanging on the side of a chair, and he was looming over a book. The two were both at the Strand, and James was looking for something to bring with him while they looked for Javael.

Svetlana was pacing behind him, her long legs taking impatient strides. "I'm going to go upstairs," she told him.

"Sure," he mumbled into the book.

"Is anybody else in here?" she asked him.

"Maybe," he mumbled again.

She was wearing light leather armor, and she moved quickly and gracefully up the stairs. She walked through decrepit rows of books, most of which were rotting and unreadable. There was nobody upstairs except for her, so she kept walking back, looking for somebody interesting, or something out of place in the bookstore.

She found herself next to a section of books about the war directly before the bombs went off. She saw a woman, her back turned away from Svetlana, reading a book about the skirmishes in Alaska. The woman heard her come, and she turned around and looked at her. Svetlana immediately recognized the woman as Cheryl Blossom, a slaver. One of the only notorious female slavers in the city. There was no bounty for Cheryl, but Svetlana noted that she would love to have such an infamous woman on the list of people she'd killed.

She was older and she had half of her head shaved, and a tattoo if the roman numbers XXV on her left cheek. "Yo," she said to Svetlana. She made note of Svetlana's looming height, and then said, "You are _quite_ the woman, I guess."

Svetlana raised an eyebrow.

"Not much of a talker. That's alright. You read?" She looked Svetlana up and down. "You don't look like much of a reader. Wrong turn, Sweetie?"

Svetlana said nothing.

"Oh, don't give me that. I know your type. Young and angry." The woman laughed. "Oh, walk off somewhere else. There's a boxing ring somewhere. It's a mindless raider thing. More your speed."

"You're patronizing me," Svet told her.

"The youth takes everything too seriously," the woman replied. "Sit down, then. Have a drink with me."

Svetlana reached into a pocket and pulled out a coin. "What's the most you've ever lost in a coin toss?" she asked Cheryl.

Cheryl laughed and took a drink from her flask. "Want to wager the whiskey?"

"I want to wager something else," she told Cheryl.

Cheryl's smile fell. "Do ya?"

"Call this coin."

"Call it?" Cheryl sighed and stood. "Sweetie, I think you may be in over your head. I'll wager a couple caps over a game of blackjack."

Cheryl tried to step past Svetlana, but Svetlana would not let her. "Call the coin."

Cheryl moved her hand onto her gun. "Tails," she said.

Svetlana flipped it, and caught it in her hand. She placed it on the back of the other hand. "Tails," she said.

"What did I win?" Cheryl asked.

"Everything," replied Svetlana.

Cheryl apprehensively moved past Svetlana. She may have mumbled something about Svetlana being a nutjob, but it was too quiet for the other woman to hear. "You must know who I am, yeah?" Cheryl called back. "My boys would like you. Maybe I'll see you around, Sweetie."

When Cheryl left, James saw her exit, and he watched her leave. He wondered why Svetlana didn't put a bullet in that woman's head. ' _Maybe she tried the coin thing,'_ he thought. He suggested she do a coin toss for people instead of outright shooting everybody who made a sly comment, and he figured it would minimize her death count by around 50%.

James dug into his bag and opened a bag of potato chips. He popped a chip into his mouth and kept reading. By no means was he a shining example of morality, but he often found himself stopping Svetlana from murdering too many people. The chips were salt and pepper, and he remembered that he hadn't eaten any lunch.

Svetlana came back down, but instead of letting her pace back and forth more, James decided to leave together and make a b-line to Vault 113 to try and beat Javael.

* * *

 **Section Three: Elizabeth, Katherine, Quasar, and Jack**

* * *

"I know where we're going!" Katherine announced.

"Vault… 113?" Jack took it as a trick question, but was a little but unsure of what she meant.

"It's not going anywhere," Katherine told him. "How about we go to _Whitney's_?" she suggested, referring to the Whitney Museum, which was now a cocktail lounge for people who were wealthy and lived on the West side of Manhattan.

"Why?" Jack asked.

"Because we got shot at way too often, and I want to get dicked down by somebody clean who has caps, for once," Katherine informed Jack, who was not sure about this brilliant plan.

"Oh, fuck, let's do it," Quasar piped up from the bathroom. "Rich folks kind of adore me. Jack, come on. Maybe a rich cougar wants to throw her caps at you."

"I do not want that," he informed everybody.

"No, this is such a good idea. Wait." Quasar pulled his shirt off and dug through his bag for a white dress shirt. Before he put his shirt on, he made sure everybody noticed his abs. "Just to make sure," he said. "Did everybody see that?"

"See what?" asked Jack.

"My abs. Did you all see them?"

Elizabeth was sitting at the desk in the room, and she rolled her eyes. "Maybe next day trip we make can be to a pool party."

"Hey," Quasar told her. "I think rich people would dig you. Science dork with a heart of gold?"

Elizabeth laughed and said, "I'll come to the party. When I was in my early 20s, I made money by giving rich people implants or repairing their robots. I'm more of a biochemist than an engineer, but I made due."

"Then put on an outfit that's not that, and let's get moving," Katherine said. "Why don't you come too?" she said to Jack. She may have winked at him, but Jack wasn't paying enough attention.

Quasar threw on a leather jacket over his dress shirt. Jack's nicest outfit was his combat pants and a brown t-shirt, while Katherine wore light blue jeans, a white tank top, and her own leather jacket. Elizabeth had her own black pants and a dress shirt, but not much else that was fancy besides a watch that didn't keep accurate time anymore. Elizabeth took her hair out of her ponytail and let it fall in waves down to her shoulders.

"They don't allow weapons," Katherine said. "But most people keep a knife or something small on them if they can."

* * *

They were pat down when they entered Whitney's, but Katherine managed to keep a knife on her. The main room on the second floor was mainly white, and pre-war and post-war art both lined the walls.

"I'm going to get a gin and tonic," said Katherine. "Maybe make a friend," she added. "Rich people always want things from capable people."

Jack looked visibly uncomfortable, since the only rich people he'd ever known were slave owners. "These people look like they buy and sell children," Jack told Quasar.

"These people have probably never seen bloodshed in their lives. Don't worry, Jack," Quasar said.

Quasar walked up to a group of people. Two men with hair gel, one with a polo shirt and one with a smart shirt, and two women, both in dresses, were giggling about something.

"I don't mean to bother you," Quasar opened. "But you all look like you'd appreciate who I talked to uptown last week."

One of the men raised an eyebrow and asked, "Would we appreciate it?"

"Well, sure," Quasar flashed his award-winning smile. "Well educated men and women like yourselves would definitely appreciate the fact that I met a ghoulified Benjamin Franklin in Central Park just last week."

One of the women giggled, and one of the men seemed skeptical. "Did you?" he asked. "What was he like?"

"Well," Quasar said. "He told a joke about the weather, of course, and said that a lot of people don't recognize him anymore. He was just taking a trip out of pre-war Philadelphia."

"And you recognized him?" one of the girls asked.

"Well of course! I've done my reading up on history."

"Can the four of us buy you a drink?" the other girl asked.

"You definitely don't have to," Quasar said. "But I do love spilling the beans with a drink in my hand," he laughed.

Jack looked at Elizabeth as Quasar walked off. "Is he lying out of his ass?"

"Benjamin Franklin died way before the war," replied Elizabeth. "But he gets creativity points in my book."

Quasar sat with the group of rich men and women and moved onto a story about the time he broke out of a raider compound with only a screwdriver. "You're such a scoundrel!" one of the women giggled. "Have you ever been to California? I hear the ocean is beautiful."

He described the ocean to her, but Jack and Elizabeth doubted he'd ever seen it.

"I'm going to go make some friends," Elizabeth said to Jack. "See you."

"Yeah," Jack grumbled.

* * *

Elizabeth was sitting at a table of people who were talking about science. Elizabeth was the youngest there, and they were all talking about stimpaks. An older man said, "Well, don't you all think that the synthetic coagulation factor VIII in the stimpaks can be superseded by something else, perhaps something smaller and more binding?"

"I once tried an experimental stimpak that used nanobots instead of protein, and instead of clotting, they weaved tissue back together on a more molecular level," Elizabeth suggested.

It was an uninteresting conversation without much hard liquor, but Elizabeth hadn't talked about science with anybody for years, and there was a part of her that needed to unwind.

Katherine came to drink, Quasar came to lie, Elizabeth came to be a dork, and Jack was there because his companions made him go. He decided to go to the next floor up, and although he wasn't much of an art connoisseur, he decided that it was better listening to Elizabeth talk about molecules.

The paintings had been mainly rearranged since the war, but other than that the museum see to be untouched. Jack was looking at a painting of a woman in settler's clothing gazing on piles of hay in thick brushstrokes. He didn't know if he liked it or not, and wondered if the experience would be any better with a drink or two.

"Do you prefer landscapes or portraits?" a woman's voice asked. He turned to look at her, and he realized that it was one of the girls Quasar had been talking to.

"I don't," Jack told her.

"You're at a museum and don't know what kind of art you like?" she asked him. "You can tell a lot about a person by what kind of art they like," she told him.

"I like that one, then." Jack gestured towards a painting composed of shapes and solid colors.

"Right before the war," she told him. "Pre-war men and women loved cubism."

Jack said, "It's alright."

"I'm partial to portraits," she offered. "I've been to every museum in the city that's still standing."

"Well," said Jack. "You can do that kind of stuff when you have money and free time." He turned his back to her, walking past the cubist works, and made his way to a quieter section of the museum.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth was talking to a group of women. "It's so lifelike!" one of the women told Elizabeth. "Who did your implants?" She was prodding at Elizabeth's arm.

"I did!" Elizabeth told them.

"Shut _up!_ " the youngest one squeaked. "I love it!" she announced. "I've been wanting to get my Perception done," she told Elizabeth. "What did you get done?"

"Arm, sub dermal armor, and my appendix," Elizabeth told her. "You know you can modify it to filter out radiation?"

"You're kidding!"

"It may have been used, a long time ago, to filter bacteria out of raw meat, so if you tap into it a little, you can get it to do the same with rads." Elizabeth was digging the attention, and she rarely found people who cared about it enough to hear her talk about it.

"Can you do mine?" she asked. "How much do you charge?"

Elizabeth told her she couldn't, since she didn't have anesthesia and a lab. The conversation continued, though, and everybody, from Katherine to Quasar, was having a rather entertaining time.

* * *

 **Section Four: Coltrane, David, Sarah, and Camisha**

* * *

David was bleeding, on the ground, looking up at Sarah, who was fighting a ghoul with her fists.

Coltrane was firing from a distance, but his aim was poor, and he didn't want to friendly fire, and Camisha was slamming her aluminum baseball bat into the heads of ghouls.

David cursed himself for getting knocked down, but he didn't have any stimpaks, and his head was throbbing.

Sarah had one ghoul on either side of her, and she was sliding and dodging their strikes. She spun, hit one as hard as she could with her palm, and kicked the other one in the knee hard enough to drop it to the ground. She swiftly pulled a combat knife from her belt, using this time, and jammed it into the one on the ground.

Before she had the chance to pull it out, the other ghoul was on her back, trying to gnaw at her.

Sarah spun and brought the ghoul to the ground with her, causing her to land on top of the ghoul. She groped for the knife in the other ghoul's head, and she managed to grab it just in time to turn and plunge it into the second ghoul.

After one last thud from Camisha's bat, the street was silent. Sarah was panting from the ground, and David was silently lying on his side. Coltrane jogged over to David and stabbed a stimpak into his side. David winced slightly from the unexpected feeling, but eased into it once his pain started to go away, and his side started to heal.

Sarah wiped her knife off on her armored jumpsuit and put it back into her belt. She pushed red hair out of her face, and started wiping whatever came out of those ghouls onto her pant legs.

"David, you alright, my man?" Coltrane asked him.

David grunted as he stood. "Thank you Coltrane," he said. Coltrane gave him a brotherly pat on the shoulder. "You're not much of a fighter," he noted.

"Maybe the fighting part of my brain is mushier than the rest of it," he offered, and then he scratched at his white beard a little bit. "I don't mean to be useless," he said. "But nobody attacks me much," he apologized.

"Not everybody is a fighter," said David.

"You rarely ever meet a lover out there," Camisha told the boys. "It's refreshing," she said.

"You know," said Coltrane. "I was drafted into the war, but before I went, I wrote some anti-war propaganda songs. That's just who I am."

"You've lived a long time," said Sarah. "All without learning how to fight?"

Coltrane gave her a pat, and she almost shied away due to the way the Brotherhood tried to instill a dislike of ghouls into her. He withdrew his hand and said, "Before the Brotherhood started wanting to 'purge' ghouls from the wasteland, nobody cared much about us."

"How do you deal with the Brotherhood?" Sarah asked.

"I get big tough guys like David here to not let them grease me," he joked. David gave him a smile. The four of them were only twenty-five blocks away from Vault 113.

* * *

 **Section Five: Brief Introduction of Paladin Logan and Benjamin**

* * *

There was a Brahmin steak in front of an older man with short graying hair and a thick beard. He was aged, but he had aged well, and had a strong body under his Brother of Steel soldier uniform. His power armor was standing menacingly at the other end of the hotel room, looking over the older man.

The power armor was T60, and there was a pocketed bandoleer over the chest armor, as well as a massive backpack. It was Eastcoast BoS Power Armor, which was black with red trim. It was unmanned, but it looked as though it were about to move.

He was drinking a beer with his steak, and he was eating at the hotel room's desk.

His tired blue eyes were mainly focused on the young boy sleeping in the hotel room bed. After the day of traveling together in The Bronx, the young boy needed a rest, especially after their encounter with a Yao Guai, which were only native to that borough.

The boy's name was Ben, and the Paladin could barely make out Ben's thin, pale form move up and down under the covers. He could make out, though, the slaver's branding on the back of the boy's neck, and even after months, it still broke Paladin Logan's heart.

The boy had black hair peeking out of the covers, and the boy was no older than 10. He shuffled in his sleep, and Logan took another sip of his beer. The boy had been through a lot, but Logan trusted that one day the boy would make a good solider. He was determined enough, Logan knew.

Logan took another bite of his steak, and the boy stirred awake.

Ben threw the covers off of him and walked over to Logan, looking frail in only a t-shirt and shorts. Ben climbed up onto the other chair in the hotel room. "Hi Logan," he said.

"Hey," said Logan. "Do you want a water?" he knew it was too late for something with sugar like Nuka Cola, so the only other thing he had to offer was water.

"No thank you," said Ben. Benjamin had a facial scar that decorated the left side of his face; it was very notable, and rather ghastly, but his blue eyes and determined smile made up for the wound. "Do we still have the Mirelurk jerky?" he asked.

"It's late," Logan told him. "But yes we do." The Paladin stood up, rummaged through the bag on the power armor's back, and gave Benjamin a small baggy of dried meat. "Go crazy," he offered.

Ben popped a piece into his mouth and smiled. After the second piece, he said, "Can I have a water?"

"Now you want a water?" Logan raised an eyebrow, and Ben gave an innocent shrug. "Alright." He got back up and put water in front of Ben, who took a sip and then went back to his jerky.

"Where are we going next?" Ben asked.

"You know," said Logan. "I'm a little out of leads," he admitted. "I don't know if there's a radio in this city powerful enough to contact the Brotherhood."

Ben swallowed a last piece of jerky and said, "If there's a way to find the Brotherhood, you'll find it! We'll find it!" He took one last sip of water and walked back to bed. He got snuggled under the covers and looked at Logan. "Maybe we'll find it tomorrow."

"Maybe," Logan replied.

* * *

 **Hey, I know some of the sections were a little short, but five was definitely more than I was expecting to do this chapter. I'm pleased with how the story is coming along, and I honestly love a lot of the characters you guys submitted. I think a group or two may make it to Vault 113 in the next chapter, but we'll have to wait and see :]**


	6. Chapter 5: lost

**I think I am going to wait until next chapter to have anybody get to Vault 113. Not everybody is going to meet at once, and the groups may at some point rearrange themselves, so definitely PM me if you have a request for which characters you'd like to see yours paired up with!**

 **I also realize that I don't necessarily include every character in each chapter, but I definitely try my best to include whatever I feel will make the story better or enhance the plotline.**

 **This chapter is going to be rather short, with only two sections, but I figure I'd get something out, because I've been pretty busy recently.**

 **Section One: David, Camisha, Coltrane, and Sarah**

* * *

"So there are 12 notes in each key?" Despite her initial hesitation to befriending Coltrane, Sarah soon became engrossed in his knowledge of music, and she was thrilled at how mathematical it turned out to be.

"There sure are," Coltrane told her. "I wish I had a piano," he said. "I taught a little music theory in the old days. It was much easier with a piano."

"Tell me the primary chords of the B flat key," Sarah requested.

"How about you tell me? One, four, five."

Sarah thought for a moment and then said, "B flat, E flat, F!" She did a brief count on her fingers, and then recalled the key signature.

Coltrane smiled and nodded. "What kind of things did you do in the Brotherhood?"

David, who was walking behind them next to Camisha, couldn't help but smile. "I like that they're getting along," he told Cam. "A synth and a ghoul…" he acknowledged.

"A Brotherhood squadron would have a field day," Cam told him. "You were NCR?"

"I was," he confirmed. "Should we all split up after Coltrane gets his piano and Sarah finds her scientist?" he asked Cam.

"We certainly could," offered Cam. She looked past Sarah and Coltrane to see the blocks ahead of them. "Do you see that?"

"Do I see what?" David inquired. He was looking down and his gun rather than where Cam was pointing, and when she touched his chin to raise his read, he finally saw. " _Oh_ ," he breathed.

"Get back!" Cam called to Coltrane and Sarah, who barely had enough time to turn around before the Deathclaw came into full view. It was nasty, clawed, and had something flashing on its head.

It roared with purpose and swiped at Sarah and Coltrane. Sarah grabbed the ghoul and leapt out of the way, leaving Coltrane on the ground. He pulled himself to his feet and started to bolt to the left, away from the Deathclaw.

"Follow him!" David told Cam, who was visibly uneasy, as a Deathclaw had once torn off half of one of her hands. "Sarah and I can take out its legs and then follow you."

Sarah already had a machete out, ready to fend off the Deathclaw's blows. David's assault carbine was drawn and bullets were imbedding themselves into the beast's hide. David couldn't get a good shot at its bare stomach, and Sarah was impressively dodging its powerful strikes.

David was careful not to hit her with any bullets, although some ricocheted off of the Deathclaw and landed themselves dangerous close to Sarah.

The Deathclaw looked ready to pounce, and Sarah took this as a sign to turn around and sprint in David's direction. She grabbed him and he went with her. They ran for no longer than a minute before Sarah pulled him behind a dumpster. "Seems like you have a plan?" David huffed.

"Nope," Sarah said simply. "I think it's an alpha male."

"What does that mean for us?"

"I think it means we're going to die," Sarah told him.

David sighed deeply and lightly hit his head on the dumpster. "Oh."

"I wanted to be fixed," Sarah told him.

"I know," he replied. "We'll get out of this."

"I don't think so," Sarah replied. They heard the pounding of the Deathclaw's feet against the ground. "Do you want to fight it?"

"We have to." David stood and leapt up onto the Dumpster. He aimed his gun and started firing into the monster's leg. It roared and swiped at him, and he dove off of the Dumpster.

"I got it!" Sarah dug her machete into the knee of the Deathclaw, and she let go and tried to roll backwards.

She abandoned the machete in its leg, and felt herself get whipped to the side by a Deathclaw's hand. She was tossed like a ragdoll, and she slammed into the Dumpster.

"Sarah!" David called, clicking the trigger of his gun. He looked down when he only heard a click. He was out of ammo.

He swapped the carbine for his 10mm pistol and started firing more.

Sarah was struggling to get her knife out, and right before the Deathclaw struck again, they heard a scratchy, deep voice shout, "Hey ugly!"

It was Coltrane, waving both of his hands wildly.

"Coltrane, get out of here!" Sarah called from the Dumpster. "You don't know how to fight!"

"Not with guns," Coltrane called back. He pulled a frag grenade from his belt and said to David and Sarah, "Turn around, run fast!" He pulled the pin out with his teeth and rolled the grenade to the Deathclaw's feet. He started to run as fast as he could, and David and Sarah did the same, running after Coltrane.

Despite their efforts, they still felt the grenade and stumbled onto their knees. "Get up, smoothskins!" Coltrane yanked David to his feet. "You want to get torn to shreds by something uglier than me?"

"No." David stood.

"The Deathclaw is crippled. Run fucking faster!" They all ran, and they ran until they found Camisha, who was ducked in an abandoned pharmacy.

"Hey boys," she greeted the men. "You okay, Sarah? You look like you took a beating there."

"Maybe they knocker her synth components back into place," suggested Coltrane. He made a fist and knocked on his own head once. "Bop."

Sarah gave a shaky laugh. "We can stay the night here," she said. "We need to wait for the Deathclaw to go away."

"How long will that take?" asked Cam.

"I don't know." Sarah cracked open a water bottle. "Time." She sat cross-legged on the ground and pulled out a small electronic device. None of the other three knew what it was, and no one asked. Sarah looked down, not paying any attention to the surrounding world, tinkering with her device.

Coltrane started tapping a counter as if it were drums.

David and Cam sat.

* * *

 **Section Two: Elizabeth, Quasar, Jack, and Katherine**

* * *

"My associates and I," Quasar was telling an older man, "Are experts when it comes to fighting off raiders. Elizabeth over there – hey Elizabeth!" He called her over, and she excused herself to go sit next to Quasar, slightly drunk and wobbly. "She was fought off three raiders with a butterfly knife." Before Elizabeth could say, 'I don't know what that is', Quasar continued. "She's also a brilliant scientist."

"I wouldn't say _brilliant_ ," Elizabeth mumbled. "I jus know some things. There's a difference."

"She could do your next agility implants," he suggested.

"I am drunk," Elizabeth argued.

"Not right _now_ ," he gave her a friendly elbow that almost knocked her over. "Trust me," he assured the older man.

"Today is no longer a science day," said Elizabeth. "Enough science." She looked across the room at Katherine, who was talking to a boy.

It almost didn't register to Elizabeth's drunken eyes when a clean man in a suit walked up to Katherine and put a bullet in the back of her head.

Elizabeth stood up quickly and pulled Quasar with her, but when the gunshot went off, he heard it and stood on his own. "Run!" He pulled Elizabeth's hand and bolted towards the door.

"But Katherine!" Elizabeth sputtered.

"We're out of time, Liz!" There was another gunshot, and Quasar had no idea who went down next.

And then a flashbang went off.

They both fell to the ground, and unfortunately for Elizabeth, none of her cybernetic implants blocked out the light or the sound.

Soon, the two were on the ground, trying to scramble onto their feet and push the noise from their heads. Elizabeth managed to pull Quasar to his feet, and the two were running again, only this time their hearing was dampened and they couldn't quite see anything.

They ended up in a stairwell, and their vision and sight finally cleared. There was a Cezanne on the wall, but they didn't pay any attention to it. "Fuck, look! Your arm!" Elizabeth looked at her right wrist, which was leaking fluid that wasn't quite blood.

"It's fine," she said. "It's the synthetic one. It doesn't feel pain and it's not part of my circulatory system." She rolled up her sleeve and pulled out the bullet with her left hand and tossed it into the stairwell.

"Let's get out of here," said Quasar. "We have to run. We can get a drink and find Jack and Katherine."

"They shot Katherine," Elizabeth said. "In the head. There's no way she's alright."

They sat in silence until they heard another gunshot, and Elizabeth nearly jumped out of her skin. "Alright, let's go. Let's get out of here," she said. "Two floors down."

They made it down two of the floors, and Quasar peeked out into the lobby. It was empty, and the two guards had been shot. They had no idea what was happening, but it happened and everyone was dead.

* * *

Elizabeth injected something into her arm and the two watched it stitch itself back together. "Nanobots," she said. "X5-11, my old courser uncle, helped me develop it. It's meant for synthetic fibers."

They were sitting in a very small hotel room drinking heavily. Elizabeth mixed a Nuka Cola Quantum with whiskey, and they were both on their third class. "Do you think Jack is around?" Quasar asked. "Devich Devich?"

"Devich," Elizabeth mumbled. "Yeah. He's a fighter. Maybe we'll get to Vault 113 and he'll be there."

Quasar eventually said, "I think I'm out of toothpaste."

"I have baking soda on me if you're willing to use that," Elizabeth said.

"You brush your teeth?"

"I grew up brushing my teeth," she said. "At the Institute there was pre-war mint toothpaste, but my dad always liked baking soda as the alkaline base."

"Alright, then baking soda me," he requested. Elizabeth poured water and a little bit of baking soda into a cup and swirled it around until it became a paste. He tipped his toothbrush in and went off to the bathroom to scrub his teeth. "You're not much of a chef," he told her.

"I wasn't smart enough to be a chef, so they told me I had to be a scientist." He laughed and she fumbled for her own toothbrush. After brushing her teeth, she sat on the floor and leaned against the wall.

"We're going to find Devich," he said. "He's probably alive. And we're going to find him. I trust that son of a bitch."

"What do you want to do in the morning?" she asked him.

"I would say 'find vault 113', but I can't right now. I want to find out who did this."

"Was it slavers?"

"If it was slavers, we're going to find them," Quasar said. "Tomorrow."

* * *

Jack woke up in a cell. He didn't know when he passed out, and he didn't know where he was. He was alone in the cell, and one of his hands was handcuffed to a wall, and he was stripped down to his boxers.

He tugged against the handcuff, and looked up when a woman walked over to the cell. She was in raider leathers, and she had a Mohawk dyed platinum blonde with the roots showing at the bottom. "Nice bulge, newbie," she said.

"Fuck you," said Jack.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked.

"A bitch with bad hair," he told her.

She unlocked the cell door and threw an engineer's uniform at Jack. She undid his handcuff, and he made a move to hit her in the leg, but she dodged and hit his bulge with her foot. He stopped fighting her after that.

She closed the cell door again. "Put that on," she said. After a second, she said, "A lot of the other miners are bigger than you. If you talk to them like that they'll probably kill you."

"Five days," Jack said to her.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to get out of here in five days. And I'm going to kill you on my way out."

She laughed.

"You asked me if I knew who you were," he said. "Tell me your name so I know it when I kill you."

"Joanna."

"Do you want to know mine?"

"I don't care. I'll call you Slave if I want."

There was silence, and then Jack said, "Four."


	7. Chapter Six

**Hey everyone, it seems like only a few people are still regularly reading my chapters, so leave a review if you're still around! I'd rather not write for characters whose submitters aren't around anymore, if you understand my mentality on that.**

 **For this chapter, I'm going to do in story arcs instead of character sections. You'll see what I mean when the chapter starts.**

* * *

 **Section One Arc: Finding Jack**

* * *

The hotel had only one bed, since they didn't want to spend any more money. Elizabeth was still asleep, but Quasar was lying awake in his boxers, staring at the ceiling. He was drowsy yet determined, and he wanted to get out as early as possible to find out what he could about the attack on _Whitney's._ "Elizabeth, wake up." He nudged her with an elbow and she rolled onto her side.

She mumbled something and sat up.

"Did you dream of electric sheep?" Quasar joked.

She gave a light laugh, but then she groaned and rubbed her eyes. "Is it 4 in the morning?"

He was already shuffling into his pants, and she rolled out of bed in groggy discomfort. "Quasar," she said, and he looked at her, pants half on, and raised an eyebrow.

"How good are you at breaking into things? Terminals?" Quasar asked, getting his pants over his hips.

"Before we break the town's laws, how about we go to the diner and ask people about it? _Whitney's_ isn't far from her, so I bet you somebody knows something."

"Right," said Quasar. "But we have to go back to _Whitney's_ after that. They had security cameras, so there's probably a terminal with access to those."

"No problem," Elizabeth agreed.

They sat for a moment of silence, and then Quasar said, "After 113, are you going to stick around?"

She put on her own pants. "You want me around?"

"You know how quasars are the brightest thing in the universe?"

"Sure."

"Well, given that I am practically iridescent, may I suggest that _you_ are the one who wants _me_ around?"

Elizabeth slipped her jacket over her shoulders and then said, "You may not."

"I radiate light."

"You sure radiate something."

Quasar opened purified water and took a swig, and Elizabeth drank from her water bottle.

"That radiation filtering implant is a good trick," he said. "You could eat raw radscorpion if you wanted."

"I definitely do not want," she responded.

"While we're talking about things you may or may not want," Quasar began. "How attracted to me are you?"

Elizabeth choked a little bit on what she was drinking and then looked at him. Quasar had a friendly face with medium length black hair and well-kept stubble, and a scar she didn't think she'd noticed before. It ran from his chin to the left side of his lips, and another scar right above one of his green eyes.

His elbow sleeve shirt fit him nicely, and he looked young and handsome, which she had obviously noticed before. "From one to ten," he added. He put his baseball cap on.

"Aren't we supposed to be going on a mission?" she inquired. She stepped past him to go grab her belt, but he stepped to the side, turned around, and had her up against a wall. He courteously left enough room for her to slip past him if she really wanted to, but she stayed against the wall facing him.

"This is an equally important mission."

"Can you take anything seriously?"

"I'm taking _this_ seriously."

"We have to find Jack, big guy." Elizabeth placed a pointer finger against his chest. "You were ready to break into _Whitney's_ four seconds ago."

"We're definitely about to go out," agreed Quasar. "But one to ten first."

"Well, you're a bit of a dick," Elizabeth commented.

"If you don't love it we can go find Jack right now."

"Well, it's surprisingly not the worst. How about we find Jack and if we make it through everything alive, we can talk about it?"

"So, yes, in a word? You do think I'm incredibly sexy?"

Elizabeth pushed Quasar back lightly with her finger. "I have a terminal to hack into."

He watched her cross the room and put her plasma pistol into the back of her pants. She got the rest of her things together, and he sighed and leaned against the wall.

"Ready to go?" she asked.

"You bet."

* * *

Jack was wearing a jumpsuit, and they gave him a pickaxe, which he knew was a rather bad idea, since he could take out at least two slavers with the pickaxe before they subdued him. "What am I mining?" he asked Joanna.

"You're scraping subway parts from the 6 train," she informed him.

Jack thought about this for a little bit, and then said, "Who are you with? Just regular slavers?"

"Don't talk," responded Joanna.

"I have a friend," Jack told her. "An institute scientist who can jury rig this entire operation to explode."

"He sounds like he'd make a good slave," Joanna responded.

Jack made a note to himself that he'd enjoy breaking out and killing her. Joanna pulled out a shotgun. Jack's shotgun, and suddenly he was furious.

"It would be poetic if I shot you with your own gun."

 _Almost as poetic as me killing you with this pickaxe,_ Jack thought to himself.

Elizabeth was fiddling with a terminal in the basement of _Whitney's._ They passed by dead bodies on their way down, still relatively fresh from the night before.

The terminal whirred as she guessed the password, and she started scrolling through the files.

"Are you finding anything?" Quasar asked her.

"Yes, I'm going to pull it up right now."

A tinted video of Whitney's entrance popped up on the screen, and they watched a throng of men flood in and shoot the guard. Elizabeth paused the video. "What is that?" She zoomed in on a symbol on one of the men's jackets.

"What is what?" The symbol was a faded E surrounded by a circle of stars, and Quasar said, "That's the Enclave."

"What is the Enclave doing at Whitney's?" Elizabeth asked him.

"Can you make the audio louder?"

She did, and they couldn't make out much, but one of the men said, "6 train," and another said "113."

"Which 6 train stop is the closest to Vault 113?" Quasar asked quickly.

Elizabeth scratched her head and shut the terminal down. "Astor place?"

"Then that's where we're going to start," he announced. "We're getting Devich back."

Jack shoved a piece of scrap electronics into his front pocket. It looked just sharp enough to kill a man, but not sharp enough to poke him or poke through his shirt.

Joanna walked up to him, Jack's shotgun in hand. "Nice job, Newbie," she told him. She gave him a hearty pat on a back like an aunt would do her nephew. "Maybe you'll buy your freedom one day."

He cocked his head. "It's only been two days," Jack told her.

"You're a big strong boy," she responded.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "I meant it's been two days out of four. I was going to kill you in two days, but I figured I'd just do it now." He slipped the sharp scrap metal from his pocket and jammed it as close to Joanna's carotid artery as he could get, but he overshot by an inch and she raised the gun up in panic. He dodged and grabbed the pickaxe from her, but the bullet grazed his thigh. He swung the pickaxe as hard as he could at her, and she got off one more shot, this time deeper into his thigh. They fell together.

His leg began to spurt blood, and Joanna was dead. He pressed his hands against his leg, trying to shove cloth into the wound, but he felt the spurting against his hand.

He heard shouting from a corridor, and realized that they were about to find him and let him bleed out.

He didn't know whether to be surprised or not when Quasar came bolting into the opening with his shishkebab in hand.

Elizabeth followed close behind, firing plasma into stray slavers. She sped up her jog when she saw Jack, whipping out a stimpak and stabbing his leg with it.

"I had it," Jack said.

"You know," Quasar huffed, breathless from tearing through slavers, "You had a bullet in your leg and only half of a brain, apparently." He gave Jack's good leg a kick. "Devich Devich, you have to recant this death wish you seem to have."

Jack huffed and then flinched when he felt his leg start to stitch itself back together. "What kind of stimpak is this?"

"An experimental one?" Elizabeth scanned the room for more hostiles.

"Elizabeth knows her biology," Quasar said, not pretending to hide an innuendo.

"It's more of, well, biochemistry or medical physics…" Elizabeth mumbled.

"Well, it works," Jack old her. "Thanks." He pushed himself to his feet and pulled his shotgun out of Joanna's hands. "I'm going to free the slaves here; it's a small compound, and there are only around six more."

They freed the rest of the extremely thankful slaves, and the last one they freed was a ghoul. The ghoul was short with rotten and burnt flesh and a wiry gray beard of curly hairs. He had remnants of old tattoos crisscrossed on his skin, and his eyes were brown and sharp.

He looked Quasar up and down and raised the skin above his eye, which would have been an eyebrow if he still had them. "Are you a joke?" he asked after a minute.

"Yes," Quasar responded.

"You did a number on those slavers," the ghoul said. "Let me guess? Trigger happy young men with a penchant for sticking their dicks in things?" He gestured to Quasar and Jack.

"I think you have it all wrong," Quasar offered. "Here's a crash course in close combat: my shishkebab has no trigger. It's a sword. Swords don't shoot."

The ghoul rolled his eyes. "A smartass too, I see. And you." He pointed at Elizabeth. "You look about as exciting as an excel document, not that you know what that is."

"Excel is great if you know where the equals sign is on your terminal," Quasar retorted, and Elizabeth gave a sheepish shrug, as a cross between, 'sorry' and 'excel documents are great'. Quasar laughed out loud and said, "You _would_ like excel, wouldn't you?"

"Can you merry band of delinquents move aside?" the ghoul asked. "I have a couple places to be that aren't here." He pushed past Jack, who scowled.

"Hey, what's your name?" Quasar called.

"Gordon," the ghoul grunted back, and it was enough for Quasar.

* * *

 **Section Two: Encounters**

* * *

Svetlana Bishop was unarguably one of the most intimidating people in the room, this she knew for sure. James knew it too. He was kicked back, flipping through one of the books from The Strand, while Svetlana was putting the owner of a general store through somewhat of an interrogation. "Have you seen this man?" she demanded, thrusting a photo of the elusive Javael Evans into the shopkeeper's face.

"Yes!" His voice cracked. "He was going down to Vault 113! He's, he's, well, he's probably there. I saw him a day ago, and the Vault is close!"

Svetlana withdrew the photo. Her hair was out of a bun, and it was shoulder length and black. "Fine," she said. "Let's go," she said to James, who grinned and stood to follow her.

They walked outside and Svetlana nearly slammed into a passerby.

"Jeez," the man said. "Is it lonely up there?" Svetlana looked down at the man and frowned at his skin and wispy beard. Her frown encompassed his tattoos, his height, and the fact that he was a ghoul.

"No more lonely than a pile of meat such as yourself would be."

"What, you don't like ghouls? Well, sometimes you smoothskins aren't that pleasant either." He was wearing a grubby t-shirt, and this clothes were leather padded. His neck was craned up so he could see her face.

"You should probably get out of the lady's way," James suggested helpfully.

"I'll go any damn way I please," the ghoul, Gordon, informed both James and Svetlana. "After 250 years people you don't ever get any less prejudiced." He shook his head.

Svetlana made a move to strike Gordon, and was caught off guard when he countered it perfectly.

"Is this what's happening, lady? Are you fighting me because you're too proud to walk around me?" Gordon planted his back foot on the ground and put most of his weight on it, assuming a kicking-based tae Kwan do stance.

"She's fighting you because you're difficult and she has a knack for killing. Also, she's a lot smarter than you. Consider this a 'purging' of the wastes," suggested James. "Tell me when it's over, Svet." He lifted his hat and fixed his hair. "I'll be in the general store."

They were equally agile; Gordon was throwing kicks and she was trying to counter, but neither of them could hit the other. He changed to Tai Chi, trying to push away her aggressive strikes, but the man in black hadn't been lying when he told Gordon she was smart.

Any style change he made she read the second it happened. He wondered if she could read a style she had never seen before, and mixed it up until he was using the odd tribal village's style, which they invented themselves.

He got one hit to her side, and she stumbled, but managed a kick to his leg. She was stronger than he had given her credit for, and he was immediately in pain. He pretending to fall back, but really assumed a style of 'drunken kung fu' that gave the impression of an unbalanced stance.

When Svet took this opening, he shifted to the side and managed to hit her back, right in her kidney. She stumbled and turned around, whipping her arm into Gordon's nose, which cracked under the pressure and began to spurt blood. It dripped into his mouth and he spit it out quickly.

He lunged, using all of his weight to bring her to the ground with ju jitsu. He tried to get on top of her to slip a leg around her arm so he could dislocate her shoulder, but she used torque to throw him off, back onto his feet.

"You put up a good fight for a smoothskin," he huffed.

"You're an adept fighter for a zombie," she huffed back. "This was fun. You should go."

"Go? Just like that? Well, you were the best fight I've had since that Deathclaw... See you, smoothskin."

"Maybe some other time, brain-eater."

Gordon chuckled, and Svetlana may have smiled, but nobody saw.

* * *

 **Section Three: Jonathan and Dante, short conversation**

* * *

Dante was doing pushups. Jonathan found the younger man's indefatigable energy both refreshing and entertaining. Dante was determined and trying to find purpose, something Jonathan admired and related to.

Jonathan was still starting anew from when he left the desert rangers, and in a way he realized that Dante was helping him. This young man had found a way to reclaim himself after leaving the NCR, and Jonathan figured he could find a way too. Plus, he liked Dante.

Dante was reckless and loud, and Jonathan was observant and quiet, and he thought it worked out nicely.

"Dante," said Jonathan. "When did you become a ranger?"

"I was seventeen," Dante said in between sit ups, having rolled over from his pushups. "The youngest ranger ever."

"That's young," agreed Jonathan. "How close did you ever come to the legion?"

"Yeah. They're more or less why I quit," Dante stopped his routine and took a swig of water. "The legion captured me and the NCR barely noticed."

"That's why I left the rangers too," said Jonathan. "Because I figured once we were NCR, we would become a little less individual. Somebody would forget about us at some point."

"Well, here's to making a name for ourselves." Dante raised his purified water.

Jonathan was cleaning his weapon, but he stopped to raise a bullet. "What comes after Javael?"

"I want to buy a house," said Dante. "I haven't lived somewhere in a long time."

"That's not a bad idea," said Jonathan. "Maybe I'll join one of New York's groups. I was going to look for the New York Railroad."

"Hey, maybe I'll see you around after this," said Dante.

"Maybe."


	8. Chapter Seven: The Vault

**Hey everyone, I think that I'm going to give you guys a 'question of the day' at the end of each chapter just to keep it interactive. The question could be about the story, your character, the fallout series, or anything in between.**

* * *

 **Section One: Arriving at the Vault**

* * *

"You know," said Coltrane. "Did we think about how we'd have to open this door? Or?" The four were standing outside of vault 113, and Coltrane's hands were on his hips, and he was looking at the closed vault door in front of him.

David's hands were at his side, and he looked pensive. "Who ever started spreading the rumor that there was technology in this vault? For all I know right now, it could be full of ghouls and mentats."

"I mean, count me in then." Coltrane flashed a smile. "Name a single musician who's never snorted mentats."

"Can you snort mentats?" Camisha inquired.

"I've been alive way too long, Cam. I've snorted everything I could in my lifetime. Actually," he said. "After this I was going to go down to Mexico, if it's still around."

"What's in Mexico?" Sarah interjected.

David knew, and so he said, "Ghoul sympathizers, pre-war chems, and music."

"We called them drugs," offered Coltrane. "In Mexico they used to respect the dead, and now since ghouls are the closest thing they've got to dead men walking, they respect me."

"Clever," Camisha offered.

"I like to think so."

"Alright," said David. "So how do we get into this vault?"

"I'm going to try to rig the hinges," said Sarah. "Can you give me a second?"

"Take two," Coltrane offered. She laughed lightly and he gestured for her to step towards the door.

"Coltrane, are you really going to Mexico?" David asked him. "Don't want to stick around?"

"Sorry my man, I'm going to find myself a keyboard and split. Say Cam, were there keyboards when you grew up in a vault?"

Camisha thought about this, and then said, "To be honest, yes, surprisingly."

Sarah called from the door, "I think it will open once I pry open this panel and arrange the electronics inside."

"We could knock?" David offered.

"Knock?" Coltrane laughed. "By all means, knock."

David jogged up to the door and knocked. The ringing was hollow, and there was no response. He turned around and offered a shrug. "Worth a shot?" He turned around and the door began to creak and rumble. "Nice job!" he said to Sarah.

Sarah looked up from the door's hinge and shook her head quickly. "I didn't do it!" She got to her feet and scrambled to where David was standing. When the door was fully open, a bald man with dark skin walked out. He was in a vault jumpsuit under a lab coat.

"Yes?" His arms were crossed, and he looked demanding and stern.

Coltrane spoke first. "Do you have pianos?"

"You came all this way for a piano? You were about to blow yourselves up for a piano?" He guested to Sarah's handiwork. "It's a box rigged to resemble the door's opening mechanism. If you cut any wires, it blows."

"A keyboard," Coltrane corrected himself. "Also, don't blow up Sarah."

The man had a hearty, sympathetic laugh. "All of you can come in if you leave your weapons at the door."

"Not to be naïve," Coltrane said, "But I'll do it." He handed over his submachine gun and said, "I don't really know how to use this old thing anyhow."

"I'm not about to walk into a vault unarmed with a man I've never seen before," David informed Coltrane. "If you all go in there, you might get hurt."

"David," said Sarah. "I have less to lose than you and Cam. Coltrane I think knows what I mean. I want them to fix my synth component, and he wants to play music. You and Cam don't have to come with us any further."

"I'm a vault dweller Dave," Camisha smiled at him, and he unsurely smiled back. "I'll be okay too. You don't have to come."

David put a hand on Cam's shoulder and told her, "You three are part of my team right now. You three are my friends." He took the assault carbine off of his back and handed to the man inside of the vault, but he kept his silenced 10mm hidden in the back of his pants, and he kept his trench knife hidden too. "Lead the way," he said to the man.

* * *

"I'm looking for an electric keyboard. Something I can bring around," he explained. "You dig?"

"I dig," replied Clement. "I'm sure we have something in the back, but there aren't many musicians in this vault."

"I'm looking for something who knows about synths," said Sarah.

"I'm afraid the institute blew up three years ago," Clement told her. "Why don't we all go a to restaurant? I can tell you four about the vault, and then we can go over what we can do for each other."

They walked down a couple halls, and got a few odd looks from vault dwellers, until they were all sitting at a table in what seemed to be the restaurant-based area of the vault. Clement waved over a waiter and ordered himself a sandwich. "Can I get you something?"

"Nuka Cola," David requested.

"Do you have bananas? I haven't seen a banana since the war," Coltrane said.

"I'm okay," Sarah said, and Camisha requested water.

"A Nuka Cola, some water, and a… banana," Clement ordered for them. "So." He turned back around. "This is Vault 113. Vault Tec put two a few groups of people together. Vault 113 was originally scientists, politicians, clergy, and college drop outs."

"What happened?" Camisha asked.

A waiter came over, handed everybody his or her order, and smiled at Clement before he left.

"Well, the politicians tried to take over the vault with the help of the college dropouts. And eventually the politicians adapted religious ideals, leaving the scientists rather confused and alone," Clement said. "Eventually, people had their children and now we're just a community," he explained. "There is equipment here, but knowledge of science beyond basic wasn't passed down."

"Oh," Sarah sighed.

"We can help with your keyboard problem, though," he offered Coltrane. "But you need to do something for us first."

"Anything," Coltrane said.

"A group of mutants have been trying to get into this vault," he explained. "They don't knock," he added. "And frankly, we don't want them in here. If you four could rid us of our mutant problem, you can have your keyboard. And you can take a look around the electronics we have and take something else."

"Right," said Coltrane. "That can't be that hard. I mean, maybe it can be. Either way is it worth a shot?" he asked David.

David was sipping his Nuka Cola, thinking hard about everything that was happening. "Yeah. Worth a shot."

* * *

The mutant settlement was in an old café, and only five mutants still lived there, David counted. Coltrane pulled dynamite from inside of his jacket and let Cam strike it. He threw it through a window, and the four watched the glass blow out. Coltrane did it again, and soon two mutants ran out of the door.

David clicked his carbine, which Clement had given back on their way out, and shot down one of the two. Sarah pulled two throwing knives out and whipped them across the street, hitting the other mutant once in his left eye, and once in his forehead. Cam took this time to run at him and swing her baseball bat at his head. It connected with the knife in his eye and dug it further in, driving through his brain and killing him.

Sarah peeked through a window, and found that Coltrane's explosives had killed two, and knocked the last one out. Sarah walked in and dug her machete into its head, finishing the job.

"It's easier to fight in numbers," David commented. "I'd almost forgotten."

* * *

Clement was very pleased with the work that they did, and led them to a room they had filled with instruments. Coltrane bolted over to an upright bass, something he hadn't seen in years. "It's really something," he said. "Does anybody in this vault play?"

"No," said Clement.

Coltrane found a four octave electronic piano, which he asked Sarah if she could modify into a portable keyboard. She nodded quickly and walked over to Coltrane. "Easy," she said. "Can I have fifteen minutes?" she asked Clement.

"Sure thing."

While she tinkered with it, Coltrane played a jig on a grand piano. He wondered why this particular vault had such a wide array of instruments, but he didn't think much of it until Clement said, "Vault Tec wondered if anybody would try to rebel and become different than their parents by playing music. A few people did, but funny enough, most musicians left the vault. They took all of the 'how to' guides on music with them."

Coltrane was playing a slow, chord heavy pre-war song in a minor key. His voice was deep and scratchy, but he tried singing a few lyrics as he played. David thought that Coltrane was probably a very nice singer in his youth.

"I am done," Sarah said. "You can power it with cells from a laser rifle," she informed him, and he thanked her profusely.

"You're good at what you do," Coltrane told her.

"You too."

"Well, everybody." He gave Cam a firm pat on the shoulder. "I'm going to go South until I die or hit Mexico. I think this is where I leave you." Cam hugged him, and he was a little bit squishy, but she expected as much. "Sarah, you should take along an instrument. You're good at the theory," he said.

"I don't think I'm meant for it." She looked sad for a moment, but Coltrane's smile was infectious and she smiled back.

"A ghoul and a synth," he said. "We made one hell of a team there, didn't we?"

She nodded up and down vigorously, and he firmly shook David's hand. He slung the keyboard over his back, testing the weight.

"We'll stay back and look around," said David. "Will we ever see you again, Coltrane?"

"Maybe in another life. You know, my name was Eric," he told David. "Don't get too hurt."

They watched him leave, and Clement had a guard escort him out of the vault. "Want anything else?" Clement asked the three.

"No," Sarah decided after a moment.

"You ever want anything, you're welcome back."

* * *

 **Section Two: New York Enclave**

* * *

"So, where are we?" Quasar asked Jack. "I mean, there are slaves here and all, but where are we?"

Jack shrugged. "I'm not sure. They had us looking for scrap electronics."

Elizabeth looked around the subway tunnel. "They want pre-war, malleable metals," she said.

"Why would they want that?" Jack asked.

She shrugged.

"Advanced sex toys," said Quasar.

"Nope!" Elizabeth replied. They noticed a locked room, and Jack blasted the lock with his shotgun. The door swung off of its hinges, and Jack pushed it to the side. He walked in and looked around the room until he found a terminal.

"I got it," Elizabeth said. She started to type on the terminal until it whirred and unlocked. "There are a few entries," she said. She skimmed through them and said, "One says, 'the slaves are getting restless. Two brands needed for two new slaves. One ghoul: 200s. One man: 20s.'"

The terminal had the Enclave's 'E' printed on the side in white, and Elizabeth ran a finger along the design.

"Now guys," Quasar said. "Are we going to dig deeper into this Enclave stuff, or go to 113?"

"I don't want an entire organization to murder me," Jack said. "So, I think we should leave the Enclave alone."

"Have some nationalism, Devich Devich!" Quasar said. "If we don't stop the Enclave from enslaving people, who will?"

"Somebody qualified," Jack replied.

"I have a masters degree in dicking down Enclave members, so I think I am _very_ qualified, actually," Quasar said.

"There are organizations that are fighting against the enclave and people like that," Elizabeth said. She took a long pause before adding, "We could find the New York Railroad if we want to help."

"We could," said Quasar. "Is that what we're going to do?" he asked.

"The vault's not going anywhere," said Elizabeth. "Jack, do you want to be a marauder, or do you want to go make money?"

Jack sighed. "I'm going to keep going to the Vault," he said. "I heard about a bounty on a man going to Vault 113 when we were stopped at a hotel once."

"Ah, Devich, is it because my abs sexually frustrate you?" Quasar inquired.

"I don't think it's that," Elizabeth informed him.

"After I try to get this bounty, I'll follow you two to the New York Railroad," he told them. "I'll grab you two some electronics if I come across any soon."

Quasar pulled Jack into a hug. "If you die I'll kill you, Jack."

"Okay, right, I won't." Jack shuffled out of the hug. "I'll see you two."

* * *

 **So, Coltrane was just a character that I made up, and now that he has his keyboard, he's probably going to make his way to Mexico and out of the story from here. I did like writing him, though. I thought he embodied more of fallout's 'weirder' aspects.**

 **So, as for the 'Question of the day', it is: besides your own character(s), which character in the story is your favorite?**


	9. Chapter Eight

**Hey everyone, since I don't have much to say, I'm just going to get straight into the story. Just wanted to let you guys know that I love getting PMs and reviews with story ideas, and I always take everything you guys have to say into consideration.**

* * *

 **Section One**

* * *

Quasar was sipping a Nuka Cola quantum and Elizabeth had a sunset sarsaparilla in hand. "Think we'll see Devich again sometime?" Quasar asked.

"Devich seems like the kind of guy who isn't going to leave us anytime soon," Elizabeth told him. "We'll see him again."

"So," said Quasar. "It's just us traveling alone."

"Well, me, you, and your ego," she told him.

"What a squad," Quasar laughed. "So, did you think about a few days ago?" he asked. "Basically–"

"Should we hook up?" Elizabeth finished.

"Right! Should we?" Quasar stretched his arms over his head.

"What, right now on the street?" Elizabeth shot him a grin and he shrugged. "Classy."

"After all this time going to the East Village, we're going due west now," said Quasar. "We'll get there eventually, though. To Vault 113. For now, we're just a witty scoundrel and a lost scientist trying to make amends."

"I didn't know you were a scientist," Elizabeth said.

He laughed at the implication and gave her a pat on the shoulder. His hand lingered on his shoulder when a man caught his attention. "Look at that man," he said.

Elizabeth looked, pushed Quasar's hand off of her shoulder, and tried to take in the man's power armor. "I don't see that very often outside of the Brotherhood and raiders," she breathed.

"Why's the guy standing next to a molerat?" asked Quasar, referring to the figure that the man dwarfed.

"That's a child, Quasar," Elizabeth informed him.

"You've got a run for your money on who the sexiest robot in New York is," Quasar informed her casually.

"That man is 65!" Elizabeth gave Quasar a laugh, and he laughed as well.

"I'm so funny," he told her.

The man in power armor and the child noticed the pair, and the man's armor began to clank with each step as he walked towards Elizabeth and Quasar. "If that guy tries to kick my entire ass, can you disable power armor?"

"I mean, I don't think so. Maybe."

When the man in power armor and the child were standing a few feet away from the two, the man said, "Can you two handle yourselves?"

"Yes," said Quasar. "We can handle ourselves so well that we're very hard to be robbed. Right, Elizabeth?"

"Yes," she said. "The hardest. No robbers can get us."

The man raised a curious eyebrow and asked the two if they knew anything about electronics. "Sure, Elizabeth is half robot," Quasar said, and then Elizabeth elbowed him. "Enthusiast. Half robot enthusiast," he corrected.

"We're looking to salvage a lithium radio battery from a vault, but Benjamin and I cannot do it alone." He gestured to the child. "If one of you watches Benjamin and one of you comes with me, whoever comes with me can salvage whatever you want along the way. Or I can compensate you in other ways."

"Can we just confer for a second?" Quasar pulled Elizabeth a few feet away and they turned their backs to the two. "I want compensation," he said.

"I want electronics," Elizabeth replied.

"Do you want to go into the vault?"

"I mean, no."

"What electronics am I supposed to get from the vault?" Quasar asked.

"If it's glowing, pick it up."

They both turned around to face Benjamin and the older man in power armor. "We're in!" Quasar announced.

* * *

 **Section One: Part 2**

* * *

Elizabeth was sitting in an abandoned apartment with a ten-year-old boy. It wasn't the night she'd imagined when she and Quasar started to locate the railroad. She fully intended on sleeping with Quasar, even if he did have the biggest ego in the world. _That ego probably comes from somewhere_ , she offered herself.

The little boy had a scar that was no less than horrendous, and he was sitting on a chair, swinging his feet back and forth. "Do you know the Brotherhood?" he asked her.

Elizabeth was sipping fruit juice through a straw. "I do know them personally?"

"Do you know where they are?" Benjamin asked.

"Where the Brotherhood is? East, probably," Elizabeth offered. She took another sip of juice.

"Do you travel?"

"I'm from Boston, so a little bit."

"Do you like ghouls?"

"A little bit. I didn't meet one until I was 16. I think I had a little bit of a heart attack then, but it's alright now," said Elizabeth.

"Do you like synths? Logan doesn't. I don't either."

"Ah, to each his own, Ben," Elizabeth sighed. "Do you want a drink? I have Nuka Cola."

"Okay."

Elizabeth slid him a Nuka Cola. "How did you end up here, with Logan? Is he your grandpa?"

"He found me," Benjamin said. "Do you have any stories?"

"About what?"

Benjamin thought for a second. "Deathclaws?"

"Alright. Once there was a baby Deathclaw who was ugly. Uglier than all of the other Deathclaws" Elizabeth began.

"No!" Benjamin interjected. "A real story. Have you ever seen one?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "A few a couple times. I have Blamco mac and cheese, you want some?"

"Will you tell me your story while we eat?"

"Ah, sure." Elizabeth opened the mac and cheese and dug through her backpack for a small tin. She poured it all into the tin and lit a match under it, starting a small fire in the apartment's sink. After a few minutes, she took the tin off of the fire and pressed it out with her right hand, which Ben found very peculiar.

"Did that hurt you?" he asked.

"Nope," Elizabeth replied, transferring the mac and cheese to two bowls, one for each of them. "One of my arms is fake," she admitted. Then, Ben watched silently as she pulled a bag with meat in it out of her backpack and started to chop it up with a knife from the apartment. She cooked it in the tin and then put some of the meat into each bowl. "Protein, little man," she told him.

He nodded vigorously and took a spoon from a drawer in the apartment. "What is the meat?"

"Mongrel," she told him. "Quasar and I ran into a few. Anyway, _bon appetite._ "

"What does that mean?" Ben asked. He took a bite of meat and mac and cheese and swallowed.

"Not sure. They used to say it where I was from, right before we ate sometimes. It's pre-war French. You want to hear a story about a Deathclaw?" she asked.

"Yes!" Benjamin announced.

So, Elizabeth began to tell a story about herself and her "uncle" from eight years ago, and Benjamin listened intently.

* * *

 **Section One: Part Three**

* * *

"So, you were a Paladin." Quasar was stepping over the boatflies that Logan shot down.

"I still am," Logan corrected, clanking away in his power armor, less than inconspicuously.

"Say, what Vault is this?" Quasar asked.

"22," said Logan. "It's ridden with ferals, and I would get overwhelmed by them going in alone."

"You're looking for a radio?"

"A lithium core," said Logan. "Benjamin and I are going to contact the Brotherhood and bring them here."

"What, like, New York here?"

"Yes. You're an observant young man, you see the slavers here. You see the ghouls, and there are rumors of synths, coursers, and even scientists from the institute taking refuge here. You and your friend should consider joining the cause."

"My friend and I…" Quasar thought. "Well, thanks for the offer, Paladin, but we're better solo."

"Sure, son," said Logan. "Your friend is a scientist, right? Where did she learn the trade?"

"At a lab," Quasar said. "A dog lab," he lied. "A lab for dogs, maybe."

"Sure," said Logan. "Hey, we're here. Willing to clean out this vault with me?"

"You bet."

* * *

 **I know this chapter was short – only one section, but I've been very busy and wanted to get something out as soon as I could.**


	10. Chapter Nine

**Hey everyone, I know last chapter was rather short, but I know it had been a while, and I was being hounded for an update, so I just submitted what I had written. Basically, if you ask me enough for an update, I will update, but it may not be great.**

* * *

 **Section One**

* * *

Quasar wondered what Elizabeth thought of Benjamin and Logan. Logan looked intimidating in his armor, and Quasar wondered how he had so many fusion cores to keep it running. He didn't ask, though, and was carrying a pile of scrap electronics in his arms as he and Logan reentered the apartment complex.

"Got the radio." Logan announced to Benjamin, who was asleep on a couch. "You two are welcome to sleep in a neighboring apartment," he offered the pair, and Elizabeth was half-asleep, a Nuka Cola in one hand and her other supporting her head.

"Yeah, just a night," Quasar said. Elizabeth got up and walked to the door. "Any good finds?" She rubbed her eyes, trying to push away her exhaustion. "He's a good kid," she told Logan.

Logan powered down his armor and walked to one of the drawers in what used to be the kitchen. "Okay," he said. He dug around for a small bag of caps. "Here you go, you two," he said. "Hope it wasn't trouble."

"Cut through those ferals like mutfruit," Quasar assured Logan.

Quasar and Elizabeth walked down a few doors until they came to the one Logan told them to occupy.

"They're trying to contact the Brotherhood you know." Quasar dumped the electronics he'd gathered onto a table. "This is a good place."

Elizabeth pulled a chair up to the table and sighed deeply. "I've never seen a kid that young so in love with the Brotherhood. Also, this is definitely a toaster." Elizabeth pushed one scrap electronic to the other side of the table.

"Logan is a nice enough man," Quasar told her. "They're like a grandpa and a puppy."

"This is a lithium power core," Elizabeth informed him. "Good job. But you know, if anybody had given me a choice, I would have opted out of the Institute way earlier."

"Do you agree with the Brotherhood?"

"No. Honestly, the only faction I've found to be honest was the Boston Railroad a few years back. The Institute did bad things, and the Brotherhood still does."

"Do you think helping those two get a radio was a bad idea?"

"I think those two have good intentions, but as a former Institute scientist, I'm sure they wouldn't love me or my work. The Brotherhood is thick skulled you know - it'll be hard to convince them that I haven't built a synth in years. I was under the impression that all existing synths had already been memory wiped, so I'm not sure the Brotherhood will have an easy time finding them."

"Well, listen," offered Quasar. "NYC could do without the slaver problems."

"For sure." Elizabeth was sorting the scrap electronics that Quasar had found in that vault, and most of it was shiny junk, but a few rare metals and plasma items were scattered about in the pile.

"Can I pour us both drinks?"

"Whiskey for me. Hey, good job," she told Quasar. "This is a box of ballistic fiber."

"of course," Quasar said. "I know all about that. You are welcome." He poured four shots of whiskey and took one. "I would take this time to bond and ask you about your childhood," he began.

Elizabeth took a shot as well.

"But after the mess that was that vault." He took another shot. "I'm looking to unwind."

Elizabeth took her last shot as well. "This is the first time we've had a time to relax since Jack left."

"Jack's not here, rent is free, and the railroad isn't going anywhere," Quasar listed. "Now that we're here – you want to do something?"

"Do I want to bang you?" Elizabeth clarified.

"I feel like it's what the people want. And when I say people, I mean me."

She stood up and grabbed Quasar lightly by his shirt. "I mean, I'm sure that ego comes from somewhere. Just so you know, we can't travel together if the sex is bad."

"I've got a 100% satisfaction rate, you know?"

Elizabeth pulled him a little closer into a kiss, just to gauge her chemistry with him; his stubble was scratchy against her face, but she didn't mind – it was endearing, in a way. "100%?"

"Well, you don't look like you're about to disagree with my rate."

Elizabeth figured she wouldn't have any complaints.

* * *

 **Section Two**

* * *

"Look," said James. He wasn't wearing his duster, only dark pants and a white t-shirt, and his hat was on a table a few feet away from him. "I just think that towards the end, The Silver Shroud radio show got bad."

"There is nothing wrong with the Silver Shroud radio show," Svetlana shot back. "The ending was great."

The raider that James had strapped to a chair made a gargling noise.

"Will you shut up for a second?" James asked the raider, who looked like he had rabies. "Either tell me where the cache is or don't tell me anything."

Svetlana rolled her eyes and sat on the table, next to James' hat.

"I thought this thing would work." He knocked the mesmetron in his hand against the raider's chair. "Where's the cache?"

The raider only gargled in response, so James fired it against into the man's head.

It exploded, spraying onto James' shirt; his chest looked like a red and white Jackson Pollock painting. "Ah, damn. Svet, is it supposed to do that?"

"Nope," she said from the table, not looking up from the _Silver Shroud_ comic she had been reading.

James' blond stubble was freckled with blood as well, and he wiped the raider's blood from his lips and forehead, leaving smears on his face. He kicked the dead raider's chair over and moved onto another raider, strapped to a chair in the same manner.

James blasted the mesmetron into that one's head, and she awoke with a start. "Where's the fusion core cache?"

She giggled.

"Svet, this is such a pain in my ass," James groaned. "I'm in the mood for a vodka. Or two. Or five, I don't know. One for each raider who's going to explode on me today."

"You want the cores, James? You have to interrogate the raiders."

"Lady?" James straight up hit her head with the mesmetron. She grunted, and Svetlana told him he was using it wrong. "Svet, are you in the mood for steak? Unrelated to this, I just got a craving for steak." He fired into the raider's head twice. "I fucking swear, Svet…"

The next raider exploded on him, dampening his shirt even more. "This is ridiculous – this shirt is new." He pulled it off, using it to wipe the blood off of his face. He walked to the third, last raider and untied him.

The raider woke up when James pulled him to his feet. "Give me your shirt," James said.

"What? Where am I!

James, shirtless and covered in smeared blood, repeated himself. The raider, in a confused panic, took off and gave his shirt to James, who slipped it over himself. It was a little loose, but it would work; it was a flannel, and Svet informed him that he looked like a lumberjack.

"Also, where's the cache?" James asked.

"What?"

"The cache of fusion cores. Where is it?"

"I don't know! You have to ask the boss! You have to ask Jackie, all right? The boss! Not me!" The raider looked at the two raiders dead beside him and winced. "Not me!"

"Where the fuck is Jackie?" James grabbed the raider's shoulder, since the raider was shirtless.

"Alphabet City! He's there!" The raider sputtered a panicked address. "Let me go!"

"Alright," said James. The raider looked relieved for a second, but then James pulled the sword from where it was sheathed at his hip and slit the raider's throat. The blood spurted onto James' new shirt.

James sheathed his sword and walked over to Svet. "I'm telling you, the last year of issues was trash."

"The ending was iconic, actually," Svet argued, but she seemed rather indifferent. "Are we going to that raider's address, then?"

"You fucking bet we are! Once I get, uh…. A shirt?"

"A shirt," agreed Svetlana.

* * *

 **Section Three:**

* * *

Jack was deep in alphabet city, having overshot Vault 113 by a few blocks to follow up on a bounty Elizabeth talked about once. She saw a photo of a man with a wicked grin worth 2,000 caps dead, and she said, "I've seen him."

Now, Jack was only half sure what she meant. She had called him, the leader of a gang of raiders, a synth whose memory had been wiped. _Wiped or not,_ Jack thought. _I'll take him out._ Jack had his shotgun out, his green jacket tied around his waist in the New York heat, and fingerless gloves wrapped around his shotgun's grip. He hadn't shaved or fixed his hair in a while, so his round cheeks were scruffy, and his hair was slicked back and longer than it should have been. Sunglasses covered his brown eyes.

Walking, Jack noticed a small figure grumbling something and walking in the same direction Jack was walking. The man was in an old t-shirt and jeans, and he was stretching his rotted hands behind his head.

"You walk like a smoothskin," the ghoul said casually, not turning around to look at Jack.

"I walk just fine," Jack muttered. "Why are you travelling unarmed?"

The ghoul turned around and examined Jack. "Unarmed, I can take out twice as many targets as you with that big gun."

"Whatever you say." Jack tried to speed up, but the ghoul easily kept pace with him.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you strike me as the kind of guy who doesn't remember when he shot something versus stuck his dick in it," said the ghoul, Gordon. Jack said nothing, and Gordon said, "Hey, you didn't correct me."

"Do you have somewhere better to be?" asked Jack.

Gordon shrugged, and Jack noticed that he could see Gordon's muscles through his skin. It was fascinating, but Jack didn't quite know if he liked it or not. "Are you collecting that raider bounty?" Gordon asked.

"Maybe," Jack responded. "If I run into them on the way to where I'm going."

"Make sure you don't mistake killing and fucking," Gordon suggested. "Boys like you tend to."

"Great, thank you, can you piss off?" Gordon watched Jack's knuckles turn white as they gripped his shotgun's grip.

"Smoothskins are like accordions," Gordon informed him. "You can push whatever button you want and they make pretty pissy noise."

"An accor-what? You know what?" Jack raised his shotgun and aimed it at Gordon's torso, and Gordon looked unphased.

"This always happens to me," he complained. He stepped to the side and twisted his arms around the shotgun, then stepped again so that it was pried out of Jack's grip. Gordon threw it on the sidewalk and slid it a few feet away with his foot. "Enjoy your bounty, smoothskin."

Gordon spun around and wandered off in the opposite direction. Jack stood, slightly confused, wondering if he knew that ghoul from somewhere.

He picked his gun up, dusted it off, and continued in his direction.

* * *

 **Section Three: Part Two**

* * *

A female raider with a Mohawk was turning a bat over in her hands. It was heavy and wrapped in barbed wire, and she was grinning wickedly at the bloodstains on the bat.

A man strolled over and smiled at her. He was pale and plain with dark hair and blue eyes, and he wouldn't be remotely memorable if it hadn't been for his lips. His lips were painted red, widening his smile. He leaned on a table and poked the bat with one of his fingers. "Cool bat, kiddo." He was in a pre-war suit, and he looked a cross between malicious and dapper. "I'm real into the boxing ring right now. You should give it a shot. I'd love to see you splatter somebody's brains onto the wall."

"You're too sweet, Jackie," said the woman.

Another raider, this one charming and in leathers, ran into the room. "Moxie, Jackie!" he announced. "There's a man in the compound shooting up our guys."

"There's a _what_!" snapped Jackie. "Fuck me with that bat, Moxie! Get out there and stop the guy!"

The charming man and Moxie both stood up and rushed towards the door, and Jackie slipped his long barreled silver revolver into his hand. "Ready or not," he grumbled, following his two companions out of the door.

Moxie sprinted far ahead while Jackie walked slowly behind, stepping meticulously towards the sound of gunfire. He heard Moxie shout something, and made sure his gun was loaded.

* * *

Jack was sweating, his hands hastily loading two more bullets into his shotgun. There was somebody else's blood on his cheek, and he was breathing heavily. The compound was large and full of corners to run around, and it was starting to wear out Jack. His fingerless gloves were damp, and his chest was beginning to feel hot under his jacket.

He had to force himself to his feet when Moxie turned the corner, raising her baseball bat above her head. Jack rolled himself out of the way and watched the baseball bat hit the floor behind him. He lifted his gun and fired into Moxie's leg, and he would have missed if it weren't for the spread. Bullets grazed Moxie's leg and torso, but it didn't stop her from coming at Jack, and it didn't cripple her as much as he'd hoped it would.

Moxie raised the bat behind her, ready to bring it down on Jack again, and he couldn't reload, so he got to his feet and ran. Moxie, having been shot, found herself too injured to chase after Jack.

Jackie, her boss, shortly walked into the clearing. "Did you get him?" he asked.

Moxie shook her head.

"Can you run after him?"

When she shook her head again, Jackie promptly shot her. "What a mess," he grumbled. "What a damn, damn, mess."

* * *

Jack was winded. He was tired, out of breath, and mad at himself for failing. He was running low on bullets, and he knew what he had to do next.

He was six minutes from Vault 113 and couldn't think of anywhere between his current location and his destination, and so he started to walk.

When he finally got to Vault 113 he saw the closed doors, fell to his knees, and immediately passed out.

* * *

 **Section Four:**

* * *

David was sitting by the hospital bed that the unnamed stranger was laying in. "Do you think he's a raider?" David asked Cam, who was sitting next to him.

"He looks like he barely got away from them," Cam informed him. But still, as a precaution, they had the man's gun confiscated and his right hand handcuffed to the hospital bed.

"Where's Sarah?" Cam asked.

"Teaching the locals how to use their technology," replied David. "You think Coltrane is doing alright?"

"Definitely."

"So, where are we headed after this, Cam?" David asked.

"Should we do something to help Sarah find somebody who can repair a synth?" Cam thought about it and then shook her head. "I wouldn't know how to find scientists."

David almost replied, but the unconscious man stirred awake. He tugged against the handcuff and looked at David, and then Cam. "Who are you? Fuck!" He tried to unchain his hand again. "Are you raiders?"

David stood and pulled a gun to point at Jack. "Calm down, friend, you're in Vault 113."

Jack's eyes widened, and he demanded, "Where's Javael?"

"Javelin?" Cam frowned.

"No, Cliff Evans. He's supposed to be here. There's a bounty on his head. Unchain me," Jack sat up and then sighed. "I'm following a bounty here."

"We got that," said David. "We're not really residents here so we can't help you much, kid. We're probably going to leave by the end of today."

Jack groaned and fell onto his back. "I'm trying to find Javael Evans, do you know him?"

"No," said David. "We're looking for an institute scientist," he countered. "Do you know one?"

Jack went silent. "Yeah."

"He's lying," said Cam.

"Help me get Javael's bounty and maybe I'll introduce you two," Jack offered. "I know where she's going."

David shook his head. "I don't know if we can trust him."

"You're not the one tied to a bed," Jack grumbled. "Undo the handcuff and help me get my bounty."

David apprehensively undid the handcuff, and then almost said something, but he was cut off by the unmistakable blare of an alarm.

* * *

 **Hey, since a lot of characters' reviewers aren't commenting, I may kill off a couple characters and then reopen submissions. But the most active commenters/PMers are probably James and Svetlana's submitter, Quasar and Cam's submitter, Jack's submitter, and Ben and Logan's submitter. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!**

 **And just to keep you all invested, I have a 'question of the chapter' to ask you all!**

 **QOTC: What is your character's favorite food and drink in the wasteland?**


	11. Chapter Ten

**Hey, the last chapter got extremely rave reviews, so I'm very pleased with how it turned out. It seems like a lot of people are also in support of the idea of killing of the characters whose submitters haven't been active.**

 **Also, a couple have people have been asking where this story is in cannon, and the answer is it's set a few years after Fallout 4, in the ending where the Institute is destroyed.**

* * *

 **Section 1.1: Introduction of Candace and Martin**

* * *

"This is by far the worst idea you have ever had," a woman grumbled, leaning against the brick wall of a locked building. She was tall and blonde and she looked like she walked straight out of a pre-war fashion magazine. She had blue eyes and beauty that somebody could drown in – the only downside was the irritated glance she was shooting at her companion. "We're going to be here all day, Martin."

"Take is easy, Candy," her companion said from where he was kneeling, his hands fiddling with a lock. "I've almost got it."

"I guess your idea now is still better than my idea of tagging along with you." She rolled her eyes, somewhere between playful and genuinely annoyed. "Which I still can't remember why I did."

"It's because of my charm," Martin offered, but 'charm' and Martin didn't mix as well as he implied; Martin was shorter than her, his blonde hair was dark and long, and he was on the chubbier side. The lock clicked open, and Martin popped to his feet. "Pre-war locks are no match for me, you know?"

Candace shook her head, refusing to admit she was any level of impressed. "Alright, I didn't think you could do it. Honestly Martin, could we just get in and out as quickly as possible? Dusty pre-war comic book stores aren't my favorite place to be."

" _Hubris_ comics, Candy," Martin pointed an accusing finger at her. "They used to make genuine replicas of items from the comics you know – imagine finding Grognak's Axe! Or s Silver Shroud Costume! Hey, there might even be a first edition–!"

Candice cut him off. "I don't think anything of value is in that store," she told Martin, who was still one step away from drooling over the thought of comic books. "Remind me, why do I travel with you?"

"Saved your life," he reminded her.

"I could have saved myself."

"Definitely couldn't have. After you?" He opened the door for her, and she begrudgingly accepted the gesture and walked in first.

Candace clicked her pip boy on, illuminating the dim confines of the store. The sore was largely untouched, saved by the ravages of time. Martin, though, looked like a kid in a candy store.

Candace looked around with mild interest. In Vault 117, comics were sometimes given as a reward for good behavior, but Candace never really found them interesting. Then, her sensitive ears picked up a scuffling noise coming from the floor above them. "Martin, we're not alone," she whispered.

Martin turned his focus away from a display shelf and took out his Chinese officer's sword. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

There was a cry from the hallway, and a throng of feral ghouls was running towards them.

Candace began to pump blasts of laser energy into as many feral ghouls as she could, spraying ashes across the ground. Martin was hacking at the ones Candace didn't shoot, but was knocked back into shelving by a rotting body. He and the ghoul slammed into the wall together, and he barely managed to slice its throat before it bit his.

Then, Martin noticed a Feral Ghoul Reaver standing in the doorway, ominously waiting. "Reaver!" he cried.

Candace, who was in the middle of reloading, couldn't aim her gun in time, and was hurled across the room by the reaver. She tried to get back up, but the reaver was on top of her, trying to gnaw at her face. She was holding it off of her, using her enhanced strength to keep it at arm's length.

Meanwhile, having struggled to his feet, Martin saw a pre-war knick-knack that had been thrown from its display case. He dove for it.

The reaver wiggled and bit her wrist, causing her hand to spasm and something in her arm make a gruesome crack. Her hand was useless, and the reaver finally had a chance to bite her jugular. She didn't flinch.

Moments after she accepted her death, a grey blade burst from the reaver's chest, spraying clotted blood into Candace's face. The blade retracted from the reaver's chest, and Candace pushed the corpse off of her. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her vault suit.

"Is that twice now?" Martin inquired, examining the sword he found. It was unique, in a pre-war medieval style bastard sword. It was made from Damascus steel that probably would have cost a collector hundreds of pre-war dollars a few hundred years ago. "I told you this place had something worth finding, right?"

Candace pulled herself to her feet and looked at Martin with his sword. He looked like a quintessential pre-war nerd, with hair hadn't been cut in a while, a clean shave, and a little bit of fat on his figure.

"Come upstairs with me," he offered, and they both walked up the stairs together. "Holy shit!" There was a full suit of replica armor on display in a glass case.

"Please don't wear that," Candace begged.

"I think I just might have to," Martin replied unapologetically. He bashed open the glass case with the sword he found and then gauged the armor to determine whether or not it would fit him.

"Well, don't just stand there, if you're going to wear armor then put it on."

"You know, imagine how much this armor would have cost."

"Too much," she shook her head, wondering how Martin ever made it this long as such a dork in the wasteland.

He got the armor on over his body and posted proudly; he really was wearing an entire set, helmet and shoes included. The armor wasn't extremely restrictive, and it was worn over a heavy black cotton shirt. It was knight's armor colored red and black, with the helmet decorated with two black dragon wings, one on each side. The armor was a little bit tight on his frame, but he was mobile enough in it, and it seemed to make him very happy.

"What do you think?"

Candace rolled her eyes. As far as wearing armor went, she figured Martin wore it well. "Better than usual."

"Ey, that's good." The helmet muffled his voice, yet he looked very intimidating, albeit dorky.

"Alright, let's get out of here."

* * *

 **Section 1.2**

* * *

James got a new shirt from a pre-war clothing store. It was a button down denim shirt; it was the most intact thing in the store, even if it didn't entirely suit his style. "So, Javael or Jackie?" James weighted the bounty options and looked at Svetlana.

"Javael is closer," responded Svetlana. "And worth more. Plus, I've heard enough word on the street about Jackie to be wary."

"Javael it is then," James confirmed. His bounty duster was open over his new shirt, and he was wearing his hat. He frowned when he noticed two figures walking perpendicular to their own pathway. "Why is there an asshole dressed like a comic book character?"

Svetlana laughed out loud. "I bet that girl is just _dying_ to get dicked down by him."

"Hey!" James called. "You two!" The two looked uncertain of whether or not they should turn around, and James called again, "Yeah, guy in the literal suit of armor!"

The guy in the literal suit of armor turned around, and so did his companion.

"I got a question," he told them, and when they walked closer he added, "Did the Silver Shroud comics get bad at the end?"

"What!" the man in the armor, Martin, sounded personally offended. "No! The Silver Shroud was fantastic the whole way through!"

"Told you," Svetlana said indifferently. "Really, are you two a comedy routine?"

"A pretty girl and a comic book guy in a little suit of armor?" James raised an eyebrow. Even though Candace was very tall, she was still dwarfed by Svetlana and James, who were both well over 6 feet tall.

"Hey, you two are equally as confusing as we are," Martin shot back. "A, uh, tall guy, and a tall girl… that's a joke, I'm sure."

"He sure got us, didn't he, Svet?" James asked. "Hey, are you good with your sword?"

"The best," responded Martin.

"Duel me, then. To first blood. I gotta know if I'd beat a man wearing armor," James requested.

And then Svet said, "Most people settle their duels at the old Washington Square Park. Winner gets paid based off of bets that spectators get to place."

"This is ridiculous," Candace argued.

"Gotta defend my honor, Candy," said Martin.

"Candy? Whoo, I knew she was a stripper," James told Svet, who grinned.

Martin frowned under his helmet, visibly irked even under the mask. "And yours," he told Candice.

* * *

 **Section 1.3**

* * *

They set up a duel at the ring pretty quickly once they all got there. James had always wanted to smack a man in armor, and Martin, though he'd never admitted, wanted to show off to Candace.

The spectators were intrigued, especially two in particular who were drinking rather heavily. "Eighty caps on the guy in the hat," Elizabeth told Quasar.

"You don't like a guy in a suit of armor wouldn't win a fight? No way – the little man is a shoe-in."

"You're ridiculous," said Elizabeth. "You know they each came in with a girl."

"Maybe whoever wins the fight gets both girls," Quasar offered. "That one's really fucking tall. They're both… well… tall."

"We're not looking at tall women, Q, we're looking for the railroad agents. You saw the marker outside too."

"You wouldn't bang either of those women?"

"Quasar," Elizabeth sighed. "I would bang the shorter one in a heartbeat." The both laughed together, partially from the joke, and mostly from all of the alcohol in their systems.

"You and I should duel," he suggested. "But when we get up there we thumb wrestle."

"We can thumb wrestle right now."

They put their arms on the table, and somehow a thumb war resulted in both of them using both hands to smack the other's down. "Dumbass." Elizabeth tried to leverage herself to win the drunken thumb war, and their feud only ended when an announcer began to speak.

"Hello ladies and gentlemen!" He was short – so short that he without a doubt had some kind of dwarfism, and he was wearing a little tailored suit. "You're here because you're the classiest of the people who like to watch duels. These men were originally going to do first blood, but now we're playing that whoever gets knocked onto the ground for five seconds loses.

"Now, in the left corner we have James! James is tall, dark, and handsome, and he's ready to kick some ass. In the right corner we have Martin! Martin's short, probably pale, and he's wearing a suit of armor!" The announcer hopped out of the ring and out of the way.

"Three, two, one, go!" he finished his announcements.

James drew his katana and swung at one of the openings in the armor's joints, but Martin blocked with his gauntlet and then swung with his new sword. James swiftly got out of the way and it whizzed by his ear.

James tried to dig his blade into Martin's knee, but Martin blocked with his sword. For a few moments, their blades danced and the sound of steel hitting still sounded almost like a song. James sidestepped one of Martin's hits and spun to throw Martin into one of the sides of the ring. He moved to strike the back of Martin's knee, but Martin managed to get out of the way.

Then, James backed up and the two men were back where they started. Martin was out of breath, and James still had most of his stamina left. He saw that Martin was waiting for him to strike, so James walked to Martin, and when Martin swung, instead of parrying, James more or less smacked Martin's sword with his own.

Martin, who needed more energy to finish the fight, knew he had to toss aside his helmet. He threw it onto the ground next to him, revealing his sweaty blond hair and plain features.

James sidestepped every hit Martin went for, not striking back, just trying to wear out the other man further. Martin finally saw his opening and sliced the back of James' left bicep when he had an opening. James dropped his duster to the ground, giving himself more mobility as well.

Their blades crossed, and tired and determined, James used his sword to keep Martin's away from him, and he stepped forward and punched Martin in the face.

Martin, having never been hit so hard before, moved a hand to immediately clutch his face. _"_ Fuck!"

James hit Martin again, this time in the side of the head. James sheathed his sword and pulled out his .45, but instead of shooting it he hit Martin with the butt of it. He eventually walked around and kicked the back of Martin's knee, bringing the other man to the ground.

Martin's hand was covering his bleeding face, and the other one was still trying to get hits in at James.

"Five, four, three, two, one," James finished. A few spectators cheered, a few booed, and a few didn't quite know what to think.

When James got out of the ring and a few ghouls in jumpsuits came out to clean the blood off of the ground, Candace walked up to James and said, "You didn't fight fair."

"Your little boyfriend was wearing a full suit of armor, lady," James told her. "If he gets to wear a suit of armor, I get to punch him in the face."

Candace scowled and opened her mouth to respond, but James was walked away, leaving Candace to run over to Martin.

"Let's get our winnings and go, Svet," said James.

"Good match," she told him. "If you didn't punch him, I was going to."

* * *

 **Section 2.1: Jonathan and Gordon**

* * *

Jonathan, now travelling alone, had split from Dante a few days back when Dante decided to work with a small group of people focused on freeing slaves.

Jonathan was sitting at a pub by himself, watching the band tap out some jazz melodies. He was in a bar of primarily ghouls, since they were near what humans called 'The Ghoul Penn', which was essentially post-war Penn station, now occupied by mainly ghouls.

"You drink like a ghoul," the bartender complimented Jonathan. "Most smoothskins wouldn't even bother coming in here."

"A drink's a drink, right?" Jonathan offered.

"Right," agreed the bartender. "Say, would you be able to talk down some smoothskins who come in and harass us sometimes? We'd give you a couple rounds on the house if you could get them off our backs."

"Yeah, yeah, maybe," said Jonathan. He took another drink. "In case it gets violent, I kind of want something to help me out, you know?"

"Uh," the bartender considered this. "Hey, Gordon, get your ass over here!" he shouted at a short ghoul with tattoo remains on his face. "See this babyfaced traveller?"

The ghoul staggered over. "Yeah, he's a real pretty boy."

"Ah… Thanks? Thank you? Th–"

Gordon shushed him. "You want to go out and kick some smoothskin ass with me?"

"I mean, we're talking them down first, right?" Jonathan asked the bartender.

"Sure, sure, but if that doesn't work," Gordon explained. "Look kid, something tells me you need something exciting to happen to yourself real soon. Am I right?"

"I mean…"

"How about if you're not annoying while we drive away these smoothskins, you can come with me while I go to Brooklyn."

"Why? What's in Brooklyn?"

"Well, kid. What's your name?"

"Jonathan."

"Well, Johnny," said Gordon. "I just learned that there's a Railroad-developed fighting technique made specifically to take down men in power armor, and I don't know it yet. I gotta go to Brooklyn to learn it."

"Wait, why are you inviting me?"

"So nobody else here has to look at your sad, puppy dog eyes for more than ten more minutes," Gordon explained. "Now get your ass up – the nice man over there just offered you a job."

* * *

 **I actually wrote this one pretty quickly, since I was so excited to get the next chapter out, and I realized it was actually getting kind of long by the end of today, so I figured I'd submit it.**

 **Anyway, for the Question Of The Chapter, my question is: if you had to assign your character a themesong, what song would you pick? It can either be a modern song, or a song that could exist in the Fallout universe.**


	12. Chapter 11

**Hey everyone, thanks for reviewing, I really appreciate it and it motivates me to write a lot more, so keep it up! This is going to be the last plot heavy chapter for a while, and I think the next one is going to be a little wackier and character driven, more like the wild wasteland New Vegas perk.**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

The alarms in Vault 113 had only been going for four minutes until Jack, David, and Cam could pinpoint the source of the problem. A lower level of the vault had a breach, and dozens of men and women who looked like they were in a gang were putting bullets into vault dwellers.

The vault security guards were doing their best, but they were obviously not equipped to fight men and women who lived in the wasteland, given that the security didn't quite know how to fight dirty.

"Hey, how did you-!" David objected to Jack, who somehow found his shotgun on their run to the commotion.

"I'm your side, man," Jack snapped. "I know I collapsed outside of your vault, but I was fighting raiders."

"Fine," David whispered. They watched a couple of guards run in the opposite direction, but the three pressed forward.

Javael, who Jack had been hunting, was standing in a doorway, looking ominous and handsome at the same time, running his fingers along his gun. He turned to face Cam, David, and Jack. "Hey," he said lazily, as if they were friends. "Point me in the direction of the scrap electronic room, would you? I have some men looking for it already."

When Jack raised his gun, Javael countered by raising his. "Ah, ah, ah," he warned. "I don't know who can fire first, but I'd bet on me."

When David moved to get his gun, Javael spoke again, "Pull your gun out and I shoot."

David hesitated, and said, "You'd better be as good as you say, friend."

Jack might have winked, but David couldn't quite tell.

Then there was a gunshot, and Javael's chest exploded in red and Jack's arm simultaneously did the same. Then, David pulled his gun out and shot Javael's head before he could get another shot in.

"Get back to the medical wing," David said to Jack, who had to oblige, since a pullet tore up his forearm.

"Be careful."

"Don't worry hotshot," said Cam.

Jack smiled weakly and started to hobble back to the vault's hospital.

Then, Cam and David were left to find Sarah and the rest of Javael's men. Cam and David ran to where they knew Sarah was, and the door was pried open, but there was so noise from behind it. David crept in and noticed a few members of the vault security standing, and a few on the ground. Every one of Javael's men was dead.

"Where's Sarah?" asked David.

"Who? The ginger?" a limping security officer asked. He grunted and then nodded towards her body. "Sorry, kids."

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

Jack carried Javael's red hoodie on him as the required item to receive the bounty. He was walking away from the vault with a bandaged arm. David even offered to let him come with him and Cam, but Jack wasn't very interested in that idea. He was interested in renting a place in a nice city with his bounty money, and then kicking back for a month or so.

David and Cam left the vault together, and didn't know where they wanted to go next either, but decided that they might stay in the city that Jack was staying in; maybe they'd all get along sometime in the future.

The city was in the West Village, and it was an old area now called Grove City. It was the city that had the Regulator HQ, and it was the city that gave Jack his bounty money.

The first thing Cam did in the city was purchasing a new outfit. She donned a beige suede vest over a white sweater, jeans, and boots; it was comfortable and mobile, and also practical and warm for New York's climate. David also went through a brief modification of his outfit. He wore his NCR ranger combat coat, but traded the most of the uniform for the same pants, but a heavy long sleeved shirt made of wool and a combat armor chest plate.

Cam also made him throw away his bandana, saying something like, "Listen, if we're going to travel together, you're not allowed to look like the bass player in a funk band," to which David begrudgingly agreed.

He got a haircut. His hair was still mid length and dark, but it no longer got in his eyes when it wasn't pushed back.

After Sarah's death and the height of their journey to Vault 113, David just wanted to take a nap before he got back on the road again. Hell, maybe two naps. He and Cam were close now, and renting a hotel room together was like a buddy-cop show that consisted of fighting raiders and stopping robberies.

Either way, everybody was taking some time off.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

"You know," said Quasar, lying back casually as he and Elizabeth watched the pretty blonde woman tend to the man in armor's wounds. "Maybe they're siblings."

"I'm no geneticist," Elizabeth responded, sipping water slowly. "But I think two people can't look that different, even if they're both blonde."

"Do you think she's his slave?"

"No way. She could kick his ass."

They watched Candace tend to his nose, and Quasar suggested that Elizabeth help out.

"I'd mess up and turn him into a feral ghoul," she responded. "I'm too drunk to fix anything."

"Maybe his buddy will sleep with me if you help him out."

"Hey." Elizabeth pointed a finger at Quasar. "If that lady is going to sleep with anyone, it had better be me instead." They both tried to laugh quietly, since there was no fight going on, and therefore not very much noise. Elizabeth shoved herself to her feet and stumbled over to Martin and Candace, spilling some water on her way there. "Want medical advice?"

Candace looked a bit confused, and then warily asked her what she meant by that.

"Move it back into place," Elizabeth told her. "Put it in your hands like this." She put her hands on her own nose in a particular way, and then mimicked moving it to the left. "Then inject a stimpak and it'll look good as new."

"That will hurt him," Candace responded.

"Is he a pussy?" Elizabeth asked.

"No!" Martin objected.

"Good! Then it shouldn't matter."

Candace took Martin's broken nose in her hands, performed Elizabeth's maneuver on it, and then listened to Elizabeth's directions on where to jam the needle. Martin grunted with pain the whole time, but when it was over, his nose stopped bleeding and he looked perfectly normal.

Martin coughed once. "Thanks."

"Sure, man. I won some caps from betting against you, so it's the least I could do." She gave him a non-reassuring pat on the shoulder.

* * *

 **3.1**

* * *

Jonathan kicked a rock and watched it roll across the sidewalk. "Do you have any family?" He had been fishing for a question to ask Gordon, and this was the best one he could come up with.

"No, do you?" Gordon asked.

"Ah, no," Jonathan responded. "Don't have a grandson or… anything?"

"Could be. No one has ever come up to me and called me gramps, though," said Gordon. "Kid, we're almost there."

Jonathan almost thanked god for the interruption to their awkward small talk. They walked up to a white boy in his twenties who was clean-shaven and wearing jeans.

The boy stood up to look at Jonathan. "Hey, my man." He sounded like he had never seen a book in his life. He frowned when he saw Gordon. "What do you want?"

"I, uh, I've gotten word that you're harassing some ghouls. Maybe stop?" Jonathan suggested.

Gordon scoffed. " _Maybe stop_ ," he mimicked.

"Hey, shut up, ghoul," the white boy in jeans told Gordon. "If you could let us normal people talk to each other, that would be great." He barely got to finish his sentence before Gordon punched him in the nose.

"Gordon!" Jonathan shouted.

"Johnny," said Gordon. "Can I call you Johnny?"

"I'd rather you d-"

"Alright, look John. I didn't live this long to get talked down to by a smoothskin who sounds like he can't read," Gordon explained. When the smoothskin stood up, Gordon punched him again. "You going to leave my bar alone, dumbass?"

The guy whimpered something.

"Yes?"

The guy nodded fiercely.

"See how easy things can be, John?" Gordon clapped Jonathan on the shoulder. "How about we get ourselves a drink or two?"

"I think I'm in the mood for two," said Jonathan.

"Kid, listen. You're pretty, awkward, and I think you need company. What do you say we travel along together for a little?"

"I mean, I don't have anything to do, so… yeah?" Jonathan responded with a confused half smile.

"Yeah!" Gordon gave a thumbs up.

* * *

 **This chapter I'd say was a decent length, and it didn't quite include everybody, but I feel like it's going to pave the way for some pretty fun chapters.**

 **As for a Question of the Chapter: What existing character from the Fallout Universe do you want to see yours meet?**


	13. Chapter 12

**Hey everyone, this was originally going to be sort of a dopey filler chapter with long sections about characterization, since I kind of want to get the feel for some characters a little better, but I ended up going a little more intense for some of the sections. You'll get your filler eventually, though!**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

David was sitting cross-legged on the floor, trying to fix the radio in his and Cam's room. He was going at it with a screwdriver, and the only thing coming out of it was static. He was wearing his wool shirt and the pants from his ranger combat uniform, but nothing else.

Cam walked over, sipping Nuka Cola from a straw. "Do you want me to do it?"

"You know how?"

"I can give it a shot." Cam put the Nuka Cola down and pried open the back panel with the screwdriver. After a while of fiddling, she said, "I really miss Coltrane and Sarah."

David moved himself up onto the couch. "She was one of the first good people I met in the liberty wastes. Seems like everybody good dies."

"You're still around," Cam offered. She turned off the radio and the room was silent, now free of white noise. "You know how I'm from a vault?"

"Sure. You were wearing a vault suit when we met."

"I didn't really _leave_ , I was kind of kicked out."

"Ouch," said David. "How come?"

"The Overseer was my dad, and there were some people in the vault who didn't like me for that, you know?"

"Sure," said David. He took a sip of the coffee that he had tried to brew, and then put it back on the table in front of the couch. The room came with a coffeemaker and a handful of beans, which David tried to put to use.

"I got into a fight with a girl who was pretty mean to me when we were kids, and I won. I knocked her out with this big book on the history of Vault-Tec, and my dad had to kick me out before I even knew if the girl was okay or not."

"That's heavy," he replied. "How long ago?"

"Last year. The first person I met in the city was Coltrane."

"Sorry to hear that," David said, just as the radio began to clearly play music. "Hey, good job!" Sometimes he forgot how young Cam was; after being kicked out of a vault, she was immediately mauled by a Deathclaw, and all she had to show for it was a vault suit and a missing ring finger.

"The only person I really regret leaving behind was my girlfriend."

David thought about this for a second and offered, "I had a wife back in the Mojave."

"Had?"

"She was…" David hesitated, but after Cam's story, he thought he could let her know a little bit about himself. "Killed by a Nightkin."

"I'm sorry about your wife… David?"

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking you and I could try to go back to the Vault. I mean, they might not want to see me, but it's worth trying to go back. I just didn't want to do it alone."

"Well, we're not doing anything here," David offered. "Let me finish my coffee first."

"You want to go now?"

"If we don't go now, are we ever going to make it?'

"It's kind of in Albany," Camisha informed him. "Some 150 miles away from here."

"Right. No, since you're new in the city I know you probably haven't taken a Vertibird ride. There's a New York network of expensive Vertibird rides that are kind of like pre-war Subways."

"Are you serious?"

"It's only a city thing, though. You want to take one to Albany right now, Cam?"

"I don't know," said Cam. "Can I have a sip of coffee." She tried it, said, "that's really bad," and then told him they could go to Albany together.

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

"Okay you two," a ghoul in a suit said. "That's 250 for a round trip to Albany. Birds are usually in Albany from dusk 'til dawn, but if you're not back at the station in 48 hours, we'll probably forget about you, got it?"

"Yes," said David. The two climbed into the Vertibird and the ghoul got in front of the controls. "I've heard of a restaurant that makes killer Brahmin steak," he told her. "You want to go there after your Vault?"

Cam nodded.

The pilot said a few things into a radio and the Vertibird began to lift into the sky. "Say, you two don't happen to be going to a Vault 85, are you?" he asked after twenty minutes in the sky. When they didn't answer, the pilot added, "There's a distress signal coming from the Vault. I couldn't tell you what it was, but you two should be careful."

When the Bird landed a little bit later, it was a half hour walk to the vault. "What do you think the pilot meant by distress signal?" Cam asked.

"Who knows," David replied. "You probably shouldn't worry, Cam. Besides, that girl you beat is probably fine, and everyone probably knows it was justified. They might even let you back in."

"Honestly David, I don't know if I want to go back. I just want to see Katherine."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Yes."

They took a moment to walk in silence and try to observe the foliage, of which there wasn't much. They only ran into a couple mongrels and mole rats on their way there, and when they got to the vault, the door was bolted shut, just as Cam remembered it. David found the latch to open the door, and it took a little while to budge, but he and Cam managed to squeeze through and look at the interior door.

"Hello?" David called warily. "I – we – we're travellers," he looked at Cam to make sure he was saying the right things.

"Dad, I know you can hear me!" Cam piped up. "I won't stay, I just need to see everyone again."

They waited twenty-six seconds – Camisha counted every single one – and the interior door opened with a loud dispense of air.

A vault security guard who was old and tired stood in the doorway. "Man," he said to David. "Can you fight?"

"Ask the NCR assault squad I used to lead," David responded.

"Fine, fine, both of you, get in. Camisha, if you touch anything again we'll shoot you this time."

David and Cam exchanged glances and walked into the vault. "Spoade, you know me," Cam told the guard. "Where is Braith?"

"Is she..?" David whispered, and Cam nodded.

"Dead, Camisha."

Cam's olive skin went ghostly pale, and she looked like she was about to fall to her knees. David put a supporting hand on her elbow, and she stayed upright. "I didn't mean…"

"The Mirelurks are breaching the lowest level," Spoade blurted out. "We don't know how to fight well enough. There are too many, and people are dying. You can't stay here or anything, but if you fix it you can see your dad again. You two get a day to kill the ghouls."

Spoade guided them through a hallway, where everybody recognized Cam. Everybody recognized her, and everybody stared. Braith's parents were nowhere in sight, which made it easier for Cam to walk the halls again.

"I want to see Katherine," Cam told Spoade.

"Katherine Marsh," Spoade sighed. "You'd have to look somewhere else."

"What do you mean?" Cam demanded. "We just promised to fix your problem, so tell me where she is."

"Katherine Marsh isn't in this vault, Camisha. Go talk to your father. Sir, can you come with me?" Spoade asked David, who nodded.

* * *

 **1.3**

* * *

"You shouldn't have come back," Thelonious Cotterill told his daughter. He was sitting in his office, typing away at a terminal. "You come back a year later and pretend to be a vigilante with a baseball bat and a 30-something year old man. Camisha, you're going to give me a midlife crisis!"

"I didn't mean to kill her, dad."

Thelonious looked down at his desk. "Your mother never would have let that girl bully you in the first place."

"Dad, please–"

"Camisha, it's all my fault."

Cam took the seat across from her dad. "What happened to Katherine?"

Thelonious looked up from his desk. "What did Spoade tell you?"

"Nothing," Cam admitted. "That if I want to find her, I'd have to look elsewhere."

"Do you know the New York Legion? They're a Mojave gang that relocated to the Hamptons, but please, Camisha, stay away from them. I knew you'd survive outside of the vault, but you won't survive them."

"Who are they? Is Katherine with them?"

"Yes, but Camisha, you have to leave it."

"Dad, I don't know if I can."

Thelonious gave a slow nod. "Who's the man?"

"The man?"

"With you. Who is he?"

"We're just travelling together. We had a bigger group a few weeks ago, but… Well, he's a friend."

Thelonious raised an eyebrow, and, finally remembering he was still a father, demanded, "What do you mean friend, Camisha? A boyfriend? A friend with benefits? A _sex_ friend?"

"No! Dad, he's like thirty! We're just friends!" And then the two laughed together for a second. It almost felt normal again, but not quite like how it used to be.

"You've always reminded me of your mother. Even more now, out of your vault suit, and with the same confidence she used to have… What on Earth happened to your hand!"

"Nothing! I mean, something – I mean, a Deathclaw…" Her voice got quit at the end, and his skin went from dark to nearly white. "It's fine now, though, dad, I just–"

"Cam, we have to talk about you staying."

"Dad, I-"

"You can't stay here. It breaks my heart to do this again, but I'll look like a fool if I let you stay."

"Dad, I don't want to stay."

* * *

 **1.4**

* * *

Spoade was sitting at the vault's café with David, stirring tea. "She's dangerous," Spoade informed David.

"No," David said. "She was young and that girl harassed her."

Spoade sipped his tea. "You weren't there."

"You're pretending like she murdered six people for no reason. And where is Katherine Marsh?"

"Okay, listen mister," Spoade snapped. "I need you to clear our basement out of Mirelurks and that's it. No questions or arguing, got it hot shot?"

"Crystal clear," David replied. "I'm going for a walk."

"I want you in the basement in twenty," replied Spoade.

David bumped into a woman with glasses the second he got up. "Oh!" she squeaked. "Sorry! Are you a traveller? Where are my manners? My name is Lauren Smith, I teach here!"

"Ah, David." He took a step back so she wasn't in his personal space anymore.

"Can I offer you a tour?"

"Um. Okay." He wasn't sure how to reject her, so he started to follow her up a staircase. Three teenage girls saw him, whispered, and started giggling. David, suddenly self-conscious of the scar on his right cheek, and the other above his eye, tried to avoid eye contact with the girls.

"Don't worry about them," Lauren offered. "That's the Rachel Cube."

"The what?"

"Rachel P, Rachel L, and Rachel Q," Lauren elaborated. "Three Rachels."

"That's… a lot of Rachels." He ran a hand through his hair and realized how hot it was inside of the vault. He had gotten too used to New York's freezing cold winters.

"We don't get a lot of travellers," Lauren explained. David realized that two of the Rachels were following them, but didn't say anything to Lauren, who was too invested in her words to notice. "If we do, they're usually older merchants."

"Sure," David agreed.

"You should come give a lecture," Lauren offered. "About the wasteland!"

David wondered if the Rachels would be there, but just said, "I'll probably be gone before then, sorry."

"I teach teenagers," she elaborated.

"Hm," replied David.

"Where are you from!" a Rachel piped up from behind him and Lauren. "Somebody told me all outsiders ate dog. Do you eat dog?"

"Um. No."

"Where are you from?" She put her hands on her hips and gave him a look he didn't quite like.

"The Mojave," David said after clearing his throat. "I have some kind of business, so I'm just going to go do that… and not this." David turned around to immediately face a tall man with dark skin.

"David Ambrose, I'm Thelonious Cotterill. Will you come with me?"

* * *

 **1.5**

* * *

"Mr. Cotterill, will all due respect, Spoade treats your daughter like a degenerate, and we both know she's not." David was sitting across from Thelonious with his arms crossed.

"Listen David," Thelonious said. "Everyone here, it's in their nature. Killing, thieving… David, do you think people are born bad?"

"I… I don't think so, no."

"Every vault is an experiment, and all of the original inhabitants of this vault committed heinous crimes. We're all descendants of murderers."

"Does Cam know?"

"No! No. Only the Overseers know. But you understand, David, how we have to expel everybody who shows those signs."

"Tell Cam."

"If we tell our children, Vault-Tec releases a toxin into the air. You keep quiet, or we all die." Thelonious stood. "I want you to kill those Mirelurks and get out."

David stood without saying anything else and exited the office. He made his way down a few floors to the basement, where Camisha and Spoade were waiting; Spoade had a scowl on his face, and Cam looked indifferent.

David pulled his assault carbine from off of his back and walked into the basement with Cam on his trail. He started to pump bullets into the first one he could find, while Cam began to smash eggs with her bat.

"We could make an omelette," David objected.

"Because you're a celebrity chef." Cam grinned at him as she bashed in the last of the eggs.

They finished their job and walked back out of the basement. Cam gave Spoade a frown and David averted his gaze.

Cam said a goodbye to her father before the two left the vault.

"David, I learned something you might not like," she told him.

David looked at the vault and said, "Likewise."

"The legion is here. They're in New York, and they have Katherine."

David only had one word for Cam. "Fuck!"

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

The fights at the club were over, and Elizabeth and Quasar were dancing. The lights were dim, she was still wasted, and the two were having a hell of a time grinding as if they were in a pre-war nightclub.

Meanwhile, Svet and James were drinking rum and some soda. They watched Candice and Martin reenter the bar-area and Svet noticed James' eyes light up with an emotion that could be described by 'asshole'.

"Hey, it's Rocky and Bullwinkle," he announced. "Did you get shorter? Svet, did he get shorter? I think he got shorter.

Svet gave a little drunken giggle and said, "Why does it look like she's his sex slave?"

Just then, Elizabeth and Quasar stumbled into the same area. Elizabeth ordered water, smart enough to realize she was going to throw up if she had another sip of alcohol. She then went off to find the bathroom.

"Hey Stumpy, I need somebody to follow me around while I dress like a comic book character, mind if I borrow your lady?" James jabbed.

"Fuck off," Martin snapped.

Quasar let out an accidental giggle when he heard James.

"I always like to say that there are two types of Candices – Candies and Caddies. Guess which type is absolutely a whore," Svet smirked, and Candy punched her in the face as hard as she could.

Svet, already drunk, passed out immediately and fell to the ground. James caught her before she hit the ground, and then twirled back to look at Martin and Candy. "Hey, Candy," he said to Candice. He did the same to her and whacked her as hard as she could. Candice didn't pass out, but she stumbled back. "Fucking bitch." He hit her again.

"Yo!" Quasar stepped in front of James. "You have to be a real dick to hit a lady, and a hell of an asshole to call her a bitch."

"Listen, man, I didn't call a lady a bitch. I called a bitch a bitch – the different is pretty obvious the more bitches you meet," James shot back, and then Quasar pulled out his shishkebab.

The other patrons in the bar had already noticed this fight, but after Quasar pulled his sword out, everybody began to vacate the bar.

James quickly unsheathed his katana and blocked Quasar. Martin pulled out his sword too.

"Guess it's just bitch after bitch tonight," James groaned. He kicked Martin in the face this time, but the helmet absorbed most of the blow.

Martin scrambled over to Candice, dragging her away from the commotion.

James and Quasar were hacking at each other, blades clanging and fire spraying with each hit.

After a few more hits and spins, James, drunk and exhausted, said, "You shouldn't defend some whore you don't even know."

Quasar lowered his blade and remembered something. He remembered Grissom playing with a butterfly knife when Quasar tried to defend a girl he had never met. Grissom said the exact same thing all those years ago.

And then Quasar started hitting a lot harder. He was swinging faster, and James was having trouble keeping up. "Fuck," James grunted. His foot hit a puddle of beer and slipped backwards, his back slamming into the floor. He pulled out his .45 and aimed it at Quasar.

Before he could get a shot off, Martin hit it out of James' hands.

James tried to shuffle out of the way, but not before Quasar stabbed him in the chest. Even though the fire immediately cauterized the wound, James twitched a couple times before he stopped moving.

"Fuck!" Quasar dropped his shishkebab. He ran a hand through his hair and looked back at James.

"That guy was a dick," Martin offered. "You saw him hit Candy."

Quasar was about to reply, but six regulators with shotguns filed into the bar. "You're all under arrest." They even made it a point to drag Svet and Candice's unconscious forms out of the bar with them.

Once the commotion was over and the only thing left in the bar was James' body, Elizabeth finally emerged from the bathroom. "Nope, I didn't fall asleep in there. That is not what happened," she said to nobody before she realized that the bar was empty. "What… the… hell…"

She plopped herself onto a barstool and starting drinking a stray water. "Nope, that is vodka." She looked at James, dead on the ground, and sighed. "Guess I have to go get that idiot out of jail now."

* * *

 **This went on longer than I thought it would be, and don't worry everyone – there might be something of a plot twist next chapter.**


	14. Chapter 13

**Hey, I really appreciated all of the reviews last chapter! You all seem more active than ever, and I'm extremely motivated to put out more chapters.**

 **Also, if I haven't been using your OC very much recently, remind me, because I'm having a somewhat difficult time remembering which OCs are in which chapter.**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

Elizabeth looked tired. More accurately, she looked hung-over. Her brown eyes were looking over a map of the area, and she was sipping a coffee at a café after her restless night.

Her hair was out of a ponytail, falling softly and reaching just under her shoulders in layers. Her flannel shirt was open, revealing a white t-shirt with a pre-war design on it, and the black jacket she wore was resting on the chair next to her, along with a hat and a sword, both of which didn't belong to her.

"Looking for something?" the waiter asked her. Elizabeth ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Can I take that as a yes?"

"If someone gets arrested, do you know where the regulators take them?"

"I'd assume they'd take them down to the Subway station fourteen blocks over. Who got arrested?"

"Just some dumbass I'm sleeping with," she mumbled into her coffee. She tossed four caps onto the table and downed the rest of her coffee in one go. "Great service." She threw on her coat and tucked the hat and sword under her arm and made her way out onto the street.

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

Quasar was sitting cross-legged on the ground, leaning his head back against the wall of the jail cell. He was poorly humming his own rendition of _The Wanderer._

Martin's armor had been confiscated, leaving him sitting in a t-shirt with his blond hair a mess. He was sitting on the one chair that the regulators gave them, listening to Quasar's humming.

"I wish I could play an instrument," Quasar stopped his humming to comment. "I'd be quite the lady killer..." he paused. "Not that… you know about ladies."

"I know _plenty_ about ladies," Martin responded.

"Yeah, they also have these." Quasar poked the fat around Martin's chest, and Martin hit his hand away. "You've got better ones than her." He pointed a thumb in the direction of Svetlana's cell.

"Fuck off," Svet snapped, having only recently awakened.

"You seem pretty calm for somebody whose lover just died," Martin told her.

"He isn't my lover," Svet grumbled, trying to lie down.

" _Wasn't_ your lover," Martin corrected.

"Whatever. I'll be out of here in no less than…" Svet gazed at the analog clock on the wall. "Two hours. Quit humming."

Quasar obeyed this command and started to sing instead, but he didn't quite know the words, so it was a lot of grumbling and the occasional correct lyric.

Candy shuffled herself awake just then, and Martin stood up and ran over to her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm alright, Martin, don't worry." She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "How are we getting out of here?"

"Elizabeth can do some science shit and warp us out of here, probably," Quasar offered. "Well, I don't know about warping, but she can do some shit."

"She was wasted last night," grumbled Martin.

"Oh, and you're the epitome of sobriety," Quasar responded sarcastically.

"All of you – shut up," Svet demanded again from across the room.

* * *

 **1.3**

* * *

Elizabeth was fiddling with a .45 revolver. She wasn't a fan of conventional firearms, but the dead man in the club's gun looked nice enough. Plus, he didn't seem to need it.

She was in a pseudo neighborhood, which included a café, the club from last night, a couple of stores, and some small houses.

Elizabeth figured Quasar wouldn't mind if she took a few pit stops to sell James' revolver and sword, so she walked into the general store.

"Hey," she said as a bell rung.

"Hey," the ghoul running the store replied.

"You buying?"

"Depends on what you're selling."

"I got a katana and a .45 in the 'weapons' department," she offered.

"Let me see." The ghoul looked over the gun and then the sword, and he offered, "300 for both."

"Right, sounds good, but you and I both know you're going to sell them for 300 _each_ based off of the prices I see in this store, so that means you're going to get 200% of what I'm getting. 450."

"350."

"425."

"You're quite the haggler," the ghoul complimented. "375."

"If you want either of these items, we're doing 400."

The ghoul groaned and agreed. He and Elizabeth exchanged the caps for the weapons, and Elizabeth made another offer. "Are you into a vintage courser jacket?"

"The one you're wearing, I take it," replied the ghoul.

"For 150 I'll throw in the hat for free."

"For 125," replied the ghoul.

"Sounds good." They traded again, and Elizabeth shuffled out of her jacket. It wasn't quite the right level of chic she was into at the moment, anyway.

"Okay Stranger, are you looking to buy?"

"Definitely," said Elizabeth.

After Elizabeth finally haggled prices up and down, she ended up in a new outfit.

She was wearing a jacket with the torso made of brown leather, and the sleeves and hood made of lighter brown cotton. She wore fingerless leather gloves the same color as the jacket's leather.

Under the jacket she wore a grey wool shirt, beige pants held up by a black belt, and dark brown hiking boots. Her plasma pistol was hanging by her side, and she had a tan backpack with a lot of straps on pockets covering the exterior.

She ended up pretty much breaking even between everything she sold and everything she bought. Either way, she was fine with how her purchases turned out.

She stepped out onto the street and made her way out of the settlement. Her new outfit was comfortable and warm, and she figured Quasar wouldn't mind the twenty-minute detour she took shopping.

* * *

 **1.3**

* * *

Quasar had fallen asleep somehow, but was awoken by the sound of banging in the next room over. He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the slamming. It was the sound of a baseball bat hitting bone, and there were a couple screams from the Regulators who had taken them.

"Is that your science friend?" Martin asked Quasar.

"I don't think she… owns a blunt melee weapon," he replied.

"Then who–"

A blond man in a long black duster strolled in. His blue eyes were tired and his beard was scruffy and unshaven. "Good morning, bitches," James Morgan greeted everybody with a smug grin.

"You got stabbed!" Martin stood as quickly as he could. "We watched you die! How did you–"

James turned his back to everybody in the cells and started searching the walls and tables in the room for the keys. "Hey, substance abuse tends to bring out the worst in everyone – even me, I admit it," James explained. "However, Candy, you are still a bitch." He winked as he watched Martin go red.

"I don't know how you're alive, but next time I get the chance I'll make sure you stay dead!" Martin snapped.

"Maybe the other knights of the round table can help you out. Oh, and when I say 'round table', I'm referring to you. You are the round table," James pulled the key out of a desk drawer. James unlocked Svetlana's cell and she walked out smiling, just as smug as James.

"I guess this means you're going to let us all free too and then give us 10 caps each for our troubles?" Quasar suggested.

"Well." James cocked his head. "Let's see." He pointed at Martin. "One of you told me to fuck off." He pointed at Candice. "One if you is a bitch." He scratched his beard in mock concentration, and then finished by pointing at Quasar. "And one of you… oh yeah – killed me, so I'm probably not qualified to make that decision. Maybe I'll leave this one to my companion." He dropped the keys in Svet's hand.

Svet turned around and wordlessly looked over Martin, Candice, and Quasar. "Maybe if you weren't such a pussy, we wouldn't be here," she offered helpful advice to Martin. Then she tossed the keys into the room's trashcan.

Candice got in a final, "Fuck both of you!" before Svet and James both exited the room.

Martin plopped himself down onto their cell's single chair. "Damn him."

Svet and James walked out of the Regulator jail, and Svet thought about the time. "You showed up an hour too early."

James shrugged and told her he knew.

"It's speeding up again, then?"

"It's nothing."

"This is why we need to get to that vault, James. It's going to get worse," Svet retorted, to which James shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Fine, but first I want to find my sword, gun, and fucking hat."

* * *

 **1.4**

* * *

Elizabeth only hated two things. She hated the woman who taught her calculus, and she hated bloodbugs. She reloaded her gun again. She had taken out two hatchlings already, but counted two adults and one more hatchling to shoot down before she could safely continue down the street.

And then she watched one of the adults blow up. "Good god, what now?" Elizabeth grumbled, drawing her pistol to fire two spurts of plasma into the remaining adult. It fell to the ground, and she was mildly confused when a figure came into the open and bashed the remaining hatchling open with a crowbar.

Elizabeth had been ducked under a car for the last eight minutes, and she cautiously stepped into the open. "Good job!"

The figure turned around to face Elizabeth.

"K9-18?" This was the last time she would ever expect to run into a synth from her past, but there was designation K9-18 standing in front of her with a crowbar.

"I know you!" K9 announced. The young woman, around 5 feet tall and lean, with dark, bronzed skin, took long, agile strides towards Elizabeth. She pointed her crowbar at Elizabeth's nose and said, "Give me one good reason I shouldn't bash your nose in."

"It's a cute nose?" Elizabeth offered.

When K9 retracted her crowbar as if she were about to strike, Elizabeth started talking more.

"Okay, K9-18-"

"My name is Kiran Misra."

"Great, okay, mine's Elizabeth Lowell. You and I are kind of in the same boat, right?"

"No! You and the other scientists oppressed us! You – you subjugated us!" Kiran was wearing a loose black turtleneck and dark brown pants, all under a long brown jacket with furred lining.

"I left too! I left before you – I left eleven years ago because I hated it too," Elizabeth explained. "They took my arm, Kiran."

"What?"

"They blew me up. Half of me is synthetic." Elizabeth touched the crowbar and pointed it away from her face. "K9 – sorry, Kiran – I didn't know you. I saw you around, but I didn't know you."

"You didn't try to save me or any of us! You left alone!"

"I left with X5-11. I called him Harold, though. I wore his uniform for a few years after he died. Look Kiran, I have to release my... buddy from jail, and I'd hate to do this to you, but the fact that I haven't activated your shut down code yet means something, right?" Elizabeth tried to sidestep Kiran, but Kiran moved with her.

"You're bluffing. There's no way you know my shut down code."

"Please let me get on my way," Elizabeth pleaded.

"You're an institute scientist!"

"Yes, but _alpha_ 7 9 _cirrus._ " Elizabeth stepped forward and caught Kiran when she fell. "Sorry kid," she mumbled, pulling a car door open and laying Kiran down in the back seat. "I just have a damsel in distress to rescue from jail. Resume motor functions, t minus 102 _mew_ 5 8 _tempest_."

* * *

 **1.5**

* * *

"There she is!" Quasar shoved himself to his feet when Elizabeth walked into the jail. "Nice outfit."

"It's new," Elizabeth replied.

"The key's in the trashcan," said Candice.

"That's great to know, but I'm just going to bust it open with the terminal." Elizabeth started typing away, mumbling letters to herself for a moment before the jail cell unlocked. "Okay Q, are you ready to head back on our journey?"

"Oh, fuck yeah," Quasar announced. "Candice, Martin, it's been real." He gave Martin's hand, which was at his side, a rough shake, and then turned back to Elizabeth. "You won't believe what happened."

"Likewise man, guess what I had to do on the way here!"

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

The radio, for the first time since Logan and Benjamin got to the city, whirred static, and then they heard voices.

"It's working!" Benjamin cried.

Logan put the radio up to his ear and started to turn one of the dials. He switched the area code until it was no longer New York, and he had Boston's signals coming through the radio.

He flipped the channels carefully by turning a dial on the radio. His heart almost leapt out of his chest when he heard Elder Maxson's voice.

"It can't be," whispered Logan.

" _My suggestion?_ " a fuzzy Lancer Captain Kells could be heard in addition to the elder. " _The institute is gone, we drove the Railroad out, and I think it's time to station soldiers here, but move the Prydwen."_

Logan pressed a button down and began to speak into his radio. "Mayday, mayday," he said. "This is Paladin Logan. Over."

" _Paladin Logan... I'm afraid that's not you_ ," said Maxson. " _Logan died in New York... Over."_

"No," said Logan. "My unit is deceased; I'm the only survivor. New York needs the Brotherhood." Logan gave his address as well and then told Maxson to station the Prydwen over LaGuardia airport. "Radio out of power. Ad Victoriam. Over."

When the radio clicked off, Logan released a loud sigh and took a sip of beer to wash down his uncertainty.

"Do you think they'll come now?" Ben piped up.

"I think so," Logan admitted. "We just have to wait until they come now. New York needs to be cleansed."

"Yeah!" Benjamin agreed, taking an excited sip of water. "Then we can show those ghouls and mutants who's boss!"

Logan gave Benjamin's hair a little ruffle. "We sure can."

* * *

 **3.1**

* * *

Finally back in town, Cam and David were discussing their next move. They were in their rental apartment discussing what to do next.

"We can't just stop the entire legion, but we can take down as many of those bastards as we can," David told Cam. "I didn't know they were here."

"David, I will storm through as many of their men as I can to get Katherine back, but also I don't want to die," she told him. "We need a better option."

"The NCR isn't in the Liberty Wastelands," David informed her. "I don't know who's supposed to help take them down."

Cam hated to admit it, but she wasn't sure either. Cam was wearing her white sweater, her jeans, and socks. "You don't think there are groups here who want to do the same thing you do?"

"I'm sure there are," David agreed. "But I don't know where to start looking." He walked over to the couch in the apartment and plopped down on it horizontally.

Cam walked over to him and pushed his feet off of the couch so she could sit too. "Have you ever heard of the Railroad?"

"In passing, but I heard they were destroyed a few years ago along with the institute," David said. He looked around for something to drink, to which Cam responded by sliding him a glass of purified water. "Thanks," he said, leaning back against the couch again.

"I think they're still around. Do you think it's worth looking before we go fight the entire Legion?" Cam asked.

"I think it might be," David had to agree despite wanting to go fight the legion immediately. He knew he worked best with an assault squad, and if the Railroad could lend him men, he could do real damage to whatever kind of settlements the legion had in the state.

* * *

 **For my question of the chapter, I'd say: which OCs (besides your own) are your favorites to see in action?**

 **Also:**

 **Dear Ridley (the semi-anonymous submitter of Cam and Quasar),**

 **Do you want to give a description Katherine, or should I make up the character?**


	15. Chapter 14

**1.1**

* * *

"Captain, I thought I'd seen the last of you when I got stranded here," Paladin Logan told the Brotherhood of Steel lancer captain who arrived at his door. "Did the Prydwen dock?"

"Yes," Kells said. "Who is the child?" he added, making a half-subtle gesture towards Benjamin.

"I rescued him from slavers one day. He keeps me company, and is very interested in joining the Brotherhood," Logan explained.

"Well, that seems like something you should discuss with Maxson," Kells offered. "We have a Bird on the roof; we'll need you to debrief us on what's been happening in New York."

"A lot of changes need to be made, Captain," Logan informed him. "Slavers run rampant and I've heard rumors of synths and institute scientists alike."

"This was once a great city, Paladin," Kells told him. "I think we can restore it once we eliminate ghouls, synths, and slavers alike."

"I couldn't agree more, Captain Kells."

Benjamin came out into the hallway and looked up at Kells. "Are you the Elder?"

"No Squire, I'm the Lancer Captain."

"Squire?" Benjamin gave Logan's sleeve a tug.

"It won't be long, I'm certain." Kells stood tall and aloof, but a part of him was more than happy to help Benjamin follow his dreams. "I'm sure the Elder would like to speak with you both."

"We're going to do a lot of good here," said Logan. "Let me get my armor. Ben, pack up your things."

"Yes sir!" Benjamin scurried off to get his backpack.

"He's cute," Kells offered. "Do you think he has it in him to be part of the Brotherhood?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

Elder Maxson looked striking in his battle coat. He stood tall, and he looked out of the window, gazing at New York's streets.

He heard Logan clank into the room, and without turning around Maxson said, "I didn't realize how vile it was here. There's a cleansing that needs to happen here, don't you agree, Paladin?"

"Absolutely."

"You've seen the ghouls and you've seen the slavers, haven't you?" Maxson still did not turn around. "It's a shame. This is a great city, Paladin."

"It is," agreed Logan.

Maxson spun around. "Then tell me about what needs to be done."

* * *

 **1.3**

* * *

Paladin Logan didn't necessarily love drinking on the Prydwen. It wasn't very personal and the beer could have been better. He was waiting for Benjamin to get suited with Squire gear, so he took refuge at the bar.

He watched a man, somewhat younger than him but still worn and in his 30s, grab a scotch from the bar. "I've heard rumors you were back," he told Logan. "We thought you died."

"Nice to see you, Star Paladin Harris," replied Logan. "How is Rebecca?"

"Still married," Adam Harris replied. "Tell me about the city."

"You want a long recap or a short one?"

"Give me the short one," Adam requested.

"A hell of a lot of slavers," Logan recapped, taking a long swig of his beer when he was done.

"How did you end up with a radio powerful enough to contact the Prydwen?" Adam had a clean shave and clean cut black hair. He was handsome aside from how busted his nose was, and his eyes were green.

"You'd be surprised about the things men just leave laying around," Logan offered.

"I'm sure I would be," agreed Adam. "Ad Victoriam, Logan."

"Ad Victoriam."

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

Kiran's head hurt when she woke up. She had been lying in an odd position inside of a car, and her hair was out of the ponytail.

She climbed out of the car awkwardly and put her black hair back up into a low ponytail. It was messier than usual, which was already rather messy, and her bangs were loose and choppy.

That institute scientist didn't scrap her for parts, which was nicer than Kiran thought she would be, but the fact that somebody could shut her down with only words terrified her. It made her feel less human than she already knew she was.

Her boots hit the concrete and she pulled her coat over her small, lean frame.

Surprisingly, she didn't hate that scientist. Elizabeth Lowell was only 16 the last time they saw each other at the Institute, and what Kiran remembered of Elizabeth was never terrible.

Elizabeth was endearing then, with the same blonde hair and the same dopey smile that she had when Kiran ran into her now.

But either way, she was still a scientist, and Kiran was a synth. Kiran shook Elizabeth from her memory and kept walking. Maybe they'd meet again sometime, but it wasn't going to be for a while, so Kiran did her best to forget about being shut down by somebody from her past.

At the moment, her goal was to make her way to Vault 113, where she knew they had the technology she needed to help get rid of the electronic signal her synth components still emitted.

It was her personal goal to become as human as possible, and without her synth components she wouldn't be affected by her shutdown code anymore.

* * *

 **3.1**

* * *

Quasar said something along the lines of, "if you get to take a shopping break, so do I," and proceeded to buy himself a new outfit as well.

He wore black pants and boots with metal armor lined with fur guarding his shins. He had on a brown belt right under a black leather vest that was zipped up to his neck, where he wore a black shirt with a collar, which had a pink floral design.

He wore metal armor on his right shoulder and left wrist, as well as black gloves. Aside from the armor, his left arm was bare, but his right arm was sleeved.

Over his entire outfit he wore a brown poncho that draped to his left, over the arm with no sleeve.

"You can't be the only one looking good," Quasar explained to Elizabeth, looking at his reflection in a clean window. "Plus, I was cold before."

"You're not wearing sleeves now," Elizabeth replied.

"Yeah, but I have a poncho." He used one of his hands to lightly hit Elizabeth with his poncho.

"Thanks."

"Do you think the Railroad will let us in if we're dressed like assholes?"

"They might not let you in if you act like one," Elizabeth offered.

"Hey, as a citizen of these wastes I have the right to critique people as I see fit," Quasar responded. "Don't worry."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but she was grinning. "You want to get a hotel?"

"I'm so good in bed you'd rather bang me than save the city with the Railroad," Quasar commented. "Nice."

"I mean the city's going to be here for a while, but I'm pretty sure somebody's going to get pissed at you and shoot your dick off within the next month. I'm thinking longevity here," she offered.

"Hey, not that I have, but have you ever banged a sex bot?" Quasar asked.

"Like a FISTO or a synth?"

"Like anything."

"I grew up underground, there wasn't a huge opportunity for sexual deviancy you know."

Quasar shrugged. "We are two well-dressed individuals," he commented after a second. "Yo, check that place out." He gestured to a sign that spelled out **ROBOTS** in neon red letters.

"Are you trying to buy a sexbot?"

"What could go wrong with robots?"

"If you insist." The two pushed open the door to the Robot Store, and an old man with a long face looked up from a pre-war book.

"Robots?" Quasar asked.

"Mm Hm," replied the old man.

"Ask him if he has a FISTO," Quasar whispered to Elizabeth.

"No," Elizabeth whispered back.

"She wants to know if you have a FISTO here," Quasar announced to the man, and Elizabeth inhaled deeply and put her hand on her forehead.

"A what?" the man asked.

"A long rod will probably work the same," Quasar suggested.

"Are you shopping or talking?" the man grunted.

"This is nice." Elizabeth touched an assaultron circuit board on the wall. "It's busted, though."

"What is it?" Quasar asked.

"You stick it in an assaultron and it starts to shoot things."

"Do we have an assaultron?"

"We should," Elizabeth offered.

After a little longer fiddling with robotics, Quasar and Elizabeth left.

Elizabeth and Quasar walked out and ran straight into three people. Two were clad in heavy brown gear, and one was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. "Hey you two," he said. "I've heard you two have been, well, looking for us?"

"You?" Quasar asked.

"Us," the man in the t-shirt agreed. "We're the New York Railroad. We've been stalking you a little bit. Just a little though," he clarified. "Aside from half-murdering that guy in a bar fight, you two have done a lot of good."

"Thanks," Quasar replied.

"I like the reformed Institute scientist vibes you've got going on," he told Elizabeth. "I'll be honest," said the man in the t-shirt. "If the Brotherhood didn't just arrive in the Liberty Wastes, we wouldn't be talking to you out in the open, but we need help," he explained.

"Great!" Quasar said. "Well, not the Brotherhood part. The 'us' part. What can we do?"

"First thing's first, come with us. I'm Deacon."

* * *

 **3.2**

* * *

Deacon was pacing back and forth, occasionally shooting Elizabeth and Quasar a glance. "You know what we really need from you?" he asked.

Quasar couldn't think of something clever in the time Deacon gave him to answer, so Deacon just continued.

"We need the Institute codes for their unfinished glove design."

"The newest one?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes."

Quasar piped up and asked what it did, and Elizabeth explained for him. "It's a glove that emits electrical impulses. Basically if you turn it on, a function which is triggered by snapping the gloved hand, and touch something, it blasts it with electricity."

"Right," said Deacon. "If you touch power armor, it turns off. If you touch a synth, they turn off. If you touch a robot, it turns off. You get it?"

"What happens if it touches a normal guy?" Quasar asked.

"Depending on the size of the person, they'll either get knocked out, or they'll be in a hell of a lot of pain," explained Deacon. "I need you to go back to the Institute and get it."

"They would never let me back in," Elizabeth argued.

"Well, I'd assume not," said Deacon. "Given that it blew up three years ago."

"It _what_!" Elizabeth demanded.

Deacon was very quiet for a second. "It blew up," he repeated. "The Brotherhood blew it up. But listen, we don't need the institute for real, we just need it from your memory," he explained. He pointed at a memory pod in the back of the room. "The glove schematics are in here, no?" He gave Elizabeth's head a poke.

"I've seen them," she replied. "Yes, but I don't remember–"

"As long as you've seen it once, we can get it through the memory pod. Ready?"

"I... guess so?" Elizabeth said.

"Hey, let me come," said Quasar. "There are two pods over there. I want to see the Institute."

Quasar and Elizabeth both got into a pod and Deacon hooked them up. "You do this and you're in," said Deacon. "Official Railroad members."

"Let's see the Institute then," Quasar requested right before he and Elizabeth passed out.

* * *

 **3.3**

* * *

Elizabeth and Quasar were in a white room with a clean bathroom and a glass of clear water.

"Is this for real?" Quasar asked, running over to the shower. "and I thought _I_ had it good growing up."

"It's just like how I remember it," Elizabeth told him. She picked up the water and took a sip. "I know we're in my memories and all, but this tastes as real as it did 9 years ago."

Quasar accidentally turned the shower on and got the front of his leather vest and poncho wet before he could turn it back off.

"Come on," said Elizabeth. "If they're anywhere, they're in the science labs."

"Is this weird for you?" Quasar asked as they exited the white room. "Now that you know it's been destroyed and all."

"A little weird, yeah," she replied. A courser walked by them.

"Do they see us?" Quasar asked.

"Honestly, I don't really know," she replied.

They walked down a ramp and into the main lobby of the institute. An older white man with hair that hadn't started greying yet walked by them. "Liz!" he greeted Elizabeth. "Where are you off to?"

Elizabeth was in shock, it seemed, and she definitely recognized the man.

"Studying," Quasar said for her.

"Oh!" the man replied. "You didn't get this far in biochemistry without studying!" He walked off.

"Hey, it looks like whatever I say looks like it comes from you," he commented.

"Looks like it," she replied.

"Who was that?"

"That was kind of my dad."

"He kind of looks like you," offered Quasar. "Let's get to the science lab, then."

Elizabeth and Quasar walked through the lobby until they reached the door to the bio labs, which was guarded by a courser.

"Is he gonna be a problem?" Quasar asked.

"Nope," Elizabeth punched in a code for the lab and the door opened, the courser staying silent.

Elizabeth walked past a couple of scientists and started to rummage through a terminal. "I think I'm close," she told Quasar.

A courser walked up to Quasar. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Quasar looked at Elizabeth, who was almost done extracting data from the terminal. "I need to make sure I memorize this script just in case we can't get it out fully."

The courser took another step towards Quasar, who, in a panic, punched the courser in the face. Nobody in the lab seemed to notice except for the courser, who punched back.

Suddenly, Quasar was in a fistfight with a courser and Elizabeth was struggling to get data out of terminal. After fifteen seconds, Elizabeth poofed out of the Institute.

She woke up with a headache.

"We got it!" Deacon pulled out a freshly printed copy of the blueprints. "Hey, why isn't he awake yet?" he gestured to Quasar, who was still laying in one of the pods.

"I was going to ask _you_ that!" Elizabeth argued.

"Okay, fine, let me check." Deacon fiddled with a terminal. "I think he's in his own past now."

"When's he going to wake up?" asked Elizabeth.

"We could wake him up now, but we'll give him a few minutes," said Deacon. "Looks like he needs to grapple with his past for a little bit. Why don't you help get started on the gloves?"

* * *

 **So, next chapter is going to feature the long-awaited (by Ridley) scene between Quasar and Grissom. It's also going to have James and Svet get James' gear back, Benjamin's squire training, Martin learning some new sword techniques, and David and Cam figuring out what to do next in their journey.**


	16. Chapter 15

**Hey everyone! As of writing this note, I'm 2908 words into the chapter, and I'm not close to finishing, so it's going to be a reasonably long chapter this time.**

 **Also, to everyone who has submitted/would like to submit more than two OCs as a main character, you are welcome to, but I would rather only have two OCs per person, unless the third is a minor character, villain, or relative, since it's very difficult keeping track of a large number of OCs.**

 **I'm trying to get this chapter out today since I won't be around until Saturday after this, so here we go!**

 **Clarification: Javael was killed off because his story arc was over, not because his submitter didn't review (I rather liked working with his submitter, there just wasn't much more for the character).**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

Quasar was in a shack, lying on an uncomfortable cot. He shoved himself onto his feet and looked around, immediately recognizing it as the shack he lived in for 7 years with Grissom.

He grumbled, "fuck" to himself and tried to find the door. And then he watched Grissom come out of the kitchen smoking a cigarette. The ghoul was ugly and wore sweatpants and a wifebeater.

"Quasar," he greeted indifferently. "Mind throwing some eggs onto the stove?" he asked, but it didn't sound like something Quasar could refuse.

Quasar didn't say anything. He just stared, his chest tightening with fear from nearly a decade ago.

"Can we remember whose roof we're living under for a second? Make me some eggs, kid." When Quasar didn't, Grissom just shrugged. "No eggs then. Guess who I fucked today."

Quasar didn't guess.

"It was a raider," Grissom told him. "She didn't want it much, but hey, if you attack me and you lose, I think your ass is fair game. Have a beer."

Quasar apprehensively took a beer out of their fridge.

"I know you always ask me why I do them in the ass. Go on, ask me." He waited for Quasar to ask.

"I know why," Quasar grumbled eventually, trying to bury his shock somewhere where it wouldn't show.

"Because it hurts them more," Grissom took a swig of his beer. "I'm no homo or anything," he added.

"Neither am I," Quasar replied. He remembered replying that very thing to Grissom all those years ago.

"I mean, if I were, your ass would have been on my list." For a second, Quasar thought Grissom was going to slap his ass, but he didn't. "You want to spar?"

Quasar put his beer down and pulled his Shishkebab out.

"I want that," Grissom said. "I don't know where you got it, but give it to me."

Quasar swung at him, but he woke up right before the blade landed.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

"I'm tired!" Martin announced. He was in a t-shirt, and his hair was matted to his face with sweat.

"You've only done sixteen," replied Candice. "You said you wanted to get good enough to beat James. The first thing you need to do is slim down and bulk up. I need fourteen more before you get a break."

Martin lowered himself down to do another pushup.

After thirteen more grueling pushups, Martin's arms felt wobbly and he wiped his face with both of them.

Candy threw a deliberately slow punch at Martin, and he barely got out of the way. "This is ridiculous!" he told her.

"You have to build agility, Martin." She swung again, and this time she hit him.

"I'm going to pass out!"

"Come on Martin," Candice said. "I know you have it in you. You're a good guy, and you don't deserve to get beaten up by anyone else like that guy."

"Candy, that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Martin told her.

Candice told him to pick up his sword, and he assumed a fighting position. She gave him dodging tactics and began to strike at him, making him do rigorous cardio.

"You're definitely going to kill me," he told her, panting and struggling to hold up his sword.

"You're looking leaner already," she offered. "We can take a break for today, I'm going to cook."

"Candy, where are my sugar bombs and snack cakes?" Martin demanded.

"I threw them out."

"Candy!"

"Hey, you asked me to help you get fit, and eating healthy is half the battle," Candice informed him. "Protein and fiber is key right now."

Martin groaned deeply and sat next to her.

* * *

 **2.2**

* * *

When Martin woke up he was sore and his joints were stiff. "I think I worked out too hard," he told Candice.

"Don't worry," she told him. Then she injected a stimpak into his shoulder and he shouted, "ow!" in complaint. "Muscles are built when they tear and then reform bigger. They'll reform faster if we inject you with these when you're sore."

When Candice injected him everywhere that hurt, he complained but let her do it.

"Take your shirt off," she said.

"I don't know if I want–"

"Off."

He shrugged out of his shirt, revealing a pudgy stomach and an untoned chest, but for some reason he felt a little bit fitter than he did the previous day.

"Greetings!" Martin almost jumped out of his skin when a robotic voice greeted him and Candice. For a second, Martin forgot that they were in the middle of Central Park, which was very much a public place.

The robot that greeted them was an assaultron with a green colonel hat. "I am Sir Galahad! Will you don your armor and allow me to engage in friendly combat! If I win, I will not kill you."

"Sir Galahad as in The Knights of the Round Table?" Martin asked, trying to shuffle back into his shirt, and then his armor.

"Yes!" Sir Galahad announced. "You may call me Garry!"

When Martin was back in his armor, he and Galahad began to clash blades, Martin with his replica sword and Galahad with his retractable assaultron blades. Martin's fatigue combined with the assaultron's inability to get tired had Martin forfeiting in ten minutes, which was a considerable amount of time given how exhausting sword fights could be.

"Sir, may I teach you some parries and swings?" Galahad offered. "I would like to help improve your skill!"

"Oh, uh, sure," Martin said, taking off his helmet to reveal sweaty hair once again. "Have at it, Sir!"

* * *

 **2.3**

* * *

When Garry was gone, Martin was still hopping side-to-side in his armor, practicing parries and sidesteps. Candice was stirring up mongrel steak for the two, and even though he was sweating and huffing, it looked like Martin had no intention of giving up.

"You're doing a good job," said Candice. "Do you want a break? It's late, you should start up again tomorrow."

"Okay," said Martin, relieved, as if he would never have stopped if he didn't get Candice's approval. He collapsed next to her in a sitting position, and found that for some odd reason, his body was craving vegetables and steak instead of any sort of junk food.

"The more you work out, the more your body is going to want real sustenance like protein, omega-3 fatty acids, and stuff like carrots," Candice informed him.

Martin nodded. "Neat," he said, putting a big bite of steak into his mouth. He fell asleep not long after, and Candice slept a little bit after he did.

Martin woke up before her the next day, already injecting stimpaks into his sore muscles and striking against a nearby tree.

Candice woke up and watched him for a while, not informing him that she was awake until he stopped to take a drink of water.

"Nice job," she told him.

"Oh! How long have you been up?"

"I just woke up," Candice lied. "Were you training?"

"Yes!" Martin announced while bobbing his head up and down. "I think I'm starting to feel better already. Do I look better?"

"It's only been three days," Candice informed him. "But honestly, I think so. Accelerated stimpak physical training is a lot of what they did in the vault. It works very, very fast, but once you get a week or two in, it starts to slow down. You know, your muscles won't be as sore too."

"Got it," said Martin. "Hey, I think after a few more days in the park training, we should grab a hotel so I can, I don't know, shower?"

"You need it," Candice confirmed. "Get back to training. We can spar."

* * *

 **3.1**

* * *

David woke up to only a note. The note said, " _I can't wait. I'm going to the Legion to find Katherine now. I'm sorry. – Cam."_

Davis held the note ahead of him, looking at it while sipping coffee at a diner, to which he had taken the note when he woke up. He went to her home with her, he found out about Katherine with her, and he could have sworn he knew everything about her. Everything about her except for the fact that she'd abandon him like that.

He told the proprietor that it was going to be his last night staying in town, and he gave his last payment and goodbye. And to think he trashed his bandana for that girl.

He took another sip of his coffee. Maybe it was better this way – he was certainly better on his own, especially now that he had the Legion to scout out. He scratched his face, which was starting to grow stubble, something he was going to shave as soon as he got the chance.

He thanked the waiter, threw six caps onto the table, and crumpled the note. He shoved it in his pocket and got ready to move yet again.

He stretched his arms and made his way out of the restaurant, and then out of the settlement. He wasn't quite sure where to go next, but he knew that the easiest way to get information on the Legion would be to find somebody who knew the city better than he did.

Hell, he knew that the easiest way to gather information on the Legion would be through the Railroad.

He had only heard one rumor about them, and it was that they took refuge underground in alphabet city. Fortunately, he was already close to that area, so he just started to head in that direction.

There was nothing in the road – no bugs or ghouls – and he didn't mind the walk. He wondered if he'd ever see Cam again, and he thought that he probably wouldn't.

In fact, he thought that the Legion was likely to kill her, and possibly crucify her. He wasn't a huge fan of that thought, so he figured it might be best to pretend that she heroically rescues her girlfriend and they end up living happily ever after in Quogue or something.

He heard two shots of a plasma pistol from inside of a two-story building with a word 'Electronics' painted on the door.

He pulled out his assault carbine and looked inside of a window. It was foggy, but he could see a few protectrons and the green of plasma whirring and slamming into them.

He ran to the door and gave the knob a wiggle. The door opened easily, and he heard the plasma louder this time.

He fired his own gun into the first protectron, and it shut down before it even noticed him. The next one turned slowly to him and fired a laser.

He dove out of the way and rolled, popping to his feet immediately after the roll. He fired his gun again, and his bullets and the plasma did enough to destroy the robot. Once the robots were scraps, he realized that there was beeping in the room.

"Hey," the woman who had the plasma pistol said. "Thanks." He wondered why she was beeping.

"No problem," said David. "Are you looking for something?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Lithium. I have this great device here that beeps when we're near it." She pulled out of the source of the beeping and wiggled it. "It's cute."

"Great noise," agreed David.

The woman, wearing a grey wool shirt, a brown leather jacket with cotton sleeves, and a beige backpack, pulled a box from a shelf. Her caramel blonde hair was in a bun, and she looked like she wasn't running on very much sleep. She held the box to the device. "There we go. Are you looking for something?" she asked him.

"I'm just... looking to help, I guess," he admitted.

"Me too," said the woman. "I'm Elizabeth."

"David."

"What kind of help are you looking to do?" She found a bench in the store and sat down.

"Do you know the Legion?"

"Just heard about them from a buddy," she replied. "You're not one of them, right?"

"No! No." David shook his head. "I'm looking to learn about them so I can help take them down. I used to fight them in the Mojave."

"David," said Elizabeth. "I think we might be able to help each other. Do you want to wait here for around eight minutes? I want to confer with my boss."

"Can your boss help me fight the Legion?"

"I mean, my boss might want to accept you into a... a club? Yeah, a good club."

"Alright," said David. "I'm just going to sit here." He gestured to the bench, and Elizabeth gave him a thumbs up before leaving the store.

* * *

 **3.2**

* * *

"He's kind of pretty." A man wearing a t-shirt and sunglasses walked inside holding a clipboard. "What are your qualifications?"

"Excuse me?" David asked.

"Name something you can do."

"I was an assaulter with the NCR. I can assemble a squad of soldiers and take out armies ten times bigger with the right men and timing... sir?"

"Call me Big D," he replied.

"Don't call him Big D," Elizabeth told David.

"The man can do what he wants," Deacon argued. "Anyhow that's a good skill. She says you're good with a gun?"  
"I am."

"If you were a vegetable, what kind would you be and why?"

"If what?" David raised a curious eyebrow.

"Think on your feet, quick."

"Spaghetti squash," David blurted out. "They're... tough, but once you get in there, they're great?" he offered.

"Good!" Deacon announced. "What do you want to do with your life right now?"

"Stop the Legion from hurting anyone else," David replied.

"I mean, I like him," Deacon told Elizabeth.

"He seems normal."

"We get a lot of weirdoes," Deacon explained to David. "Are you into joining the Railroad?"

"You're the Railroad?" David asked.

"Pretty much. Are you into it?"

"What have you been doing on that clipboard?" David asked Deacon.

"I drew a cactus," Deacon replied, flipping his board around to show a cactus.

"Can I get a trial period?" David requested. "If we don't like each other by the end of a week, the deal's off?"

"I like him!" Deacon said. "That's good. We should make a note of that. Yeah Dave, welcome aboard."

* * *

 **4.1**

* * *

Ben was a skinny kid. He was even skinnier before Logan found him, but now he had a little bit more meat on his bones, and his skin had regained a bit of color, but he was still very pale.

The Brotherhood shaved his head, making his hair unable to hide the scar decorating the entire left side of his face, or the branding mark on the back of his neck. It unnerved him a little bit, his face and neck being so exposed, but he wanted to be part of the Brotherhood badly enough to ignore it.

Nobody would be able to see his scar or branding while he was in power armor.

They took Ed's dirty clothes and goggles and gave him a squire's uniform and cap. It was a little too loose on him, but they didn't have a uniform small enough to fit Ben perfectly.

He was giving a punching bag the hardest swings he could, but his bag wasn't being displaced nearly as much as the other squires' bags.

Star Paladin Harris, who was watching over the Squires, was looking at Benjamin with understanding green eyes as the skinny young man tried to exert as much force as he could.

"Squire," he said to Benjamin, who looked up with a sweaty face. He seemed very pleased to be called Squire by Harris, and Harris offered, "Swing with your hips, not your arm. You have to drive your body weight into a cross." He demonstrated, in slow motion, a simple boxing 'jap-cross' maneuver, and Benjamin tried it too.

"Thank you Star Paladin Harris!" Benjamin said.

"You're welcome, Squire," said Harris, who went back to where he was sitting.

Benjamin was the weakest squire for sure, but he was certainly the most determined of all of them.

Around and hour later, each scribe on the Prydwen had a squire to teach to read. For those who already could read, the rest of the day was free, but for Benjamin, who had been a slave for most of his life, reading didn't come very easily to him.

"Hi!" said Benjamin to Scribe Rebecca Wolf, his tutor for the evening.

"Hey, Squire. What's your name? I'm Scribe Wolf, but you can call me Rebecca." She was in her thirties and pretty, with bright eyes, clear skin, and brown hair. "Tell me, do you know the alphabet?"

Benjamin nodded vigorously. "Paladin Logan taught me!"

They quickly went over each letter, their order, and the general sounds that they made. Scribe Wolf started to write down some three letters words.

"Goon?" Benjamin frowned at the letters G, U, and N written in order.

"Gun," replied Rebecca. "Sometimes the 'u' makes an 'uh' sound."

"Oh! Like F.U.N? Fun!"

"Exactly," said Rebecca. "Once you know one word, you know every other word spelled like it. Gun, fun, run."

"Done?" Benjamin asked excitedly.

"No, actually, done is D.O.N.E," she explained.

It was a long night, but Benjamin was so intelligent and eager that Rebecca let him stay later than he had to, and he made amazing progress in his reading.

Benjamin got to his bed and put on pajamas, whispering the spelling of 'done' to himself as he shuffled into his pants and got ready for bed.

* * *

 **4.2**

* * *

Maxson's usually vacant room had tables folded out with various maps of New York sprawled across it. Several different colored circles crisscrossed the map, courtesy of Logan.

The rest of the ship's proctors were watching Maxson pace.

"This is as much as my memory can serve," Logan explained. "Everything I've learned over the last year is here."

Maxson nodded at Logan and gestured for him to continue.

"The Brotherhood's efforts will have more promise of success cleansing the city if we first focus our attention against the raider and slavery gangs first before we follow up on rumors about the Institute, and the mutant tribes in the city's outskirts. Slavers here are a lot more numerous and organized compared to others we've encountered. I think it would grant us more trust from the locals," he added.

"So," Maxson clarified. "You recommend removing the threat of civilians being enslaved or kidnapped in order to improve the city and gain the favor of the locals?"

"Exactly," Logan agreed. "I assume civilians aren't comfortable with a large airship docking at La Guardia airport out of nowhere and spewing armored men all over their city."

"No, they wouldn't be," Maxson mumbled. "Alright, we'll send in troops to clear out slaver compounds here, here, and here," he pointed uptown, downtown, and then in Harlem. "We should gain favor, and perhaps recruits as well, this way."

The proctors all said a few words, nodded a little bit, and then scrambled out of the room, leaving only Logan and Maxson.

"How's the boy?" asked Maxson.

"I heard from Adam Harris that he's doing well," replied Logan.

"He's thin," Maxson said.

"He has a good heart. He's clever too. He won't disappoint you."

"Has he ever killed a man?" asked Maxson.

"As long as I've known him, no men. Only ferals and mongrels."

Maxson nodded and thought. "Okay," he said eventually. "Get some rest. I get the feeling tomorrow will be a big day."

"Me too," Logan replied. "Ad Victoriam."

* * *

 **5.1**

* * *

Vic Santo's bleached white hair was covered in bloodbug, which is why he was kneeling at the reservoir, splashing the water onto his hair to wash out the bloodbug. His hair was shaved on the sides and bleached white, but his beard was the same brown as his roots and it was trimmed nicely.

He was Hispanic with a sturdy build and a clear, scar-free face. He was wearing army fatigues and combat armor with the star scratched off and a design of two crossed guns and a bulls-eye painted on.

He was fumbling to get as much out of his hair as he could.

The entire time, a teenager around 13 years old was laughing at him. She was average sized for a girl her age in post-war America, and her blonde hair was in a bun. While were eyes were blue, Vic's were more amber, and she thought his panic at having messy hair was the funniest thing she'd ever seen.

"This is serious!" Vic complained. His hair was almost clean, but he seemed mildly traumatized.

The girl was wearing a white t-shirt with leather shoulder pads, skinny jeans, and a makeshift protective vest that Vic made for her.

"You're being ridiculous, Vicky," she told him.

"No! Once you're my age you start to realize that your hair is good, and everything else is only mediocre," Vic informed her.

"You're only like... 30."

"29," Vic corrected quickly. "I am 29. You know this."

The girl rolled her eyes and Vic stood up. "Are you done?"

"Yes Valie, I'm done."

"It's Valerie!" she objected.

"Hey, if I'm 30, you're Valie," replied Vic. "Yeah, let's get moving."

They shimmied over plants and foliage and came onto a couple of wooden shacks, which were all various stores in the middle of the park.

"This is cool!" said Valerie. "Can we buy something?"

"What do you need?" Vic asked.

"Can we browse?"

"But do you... need anything?" Vic raised an eyebrow. "We're not made of caps."

"You can sit somewhere and eat leaves, _I'm_ going to browse!" she informed him, skipping off.

"Hey, it's fruit and it's healthy!" Vic argued back. He leaned back against a tree and pulled out a wild mutfruit.

Valerie disappeared into one of the stores and Vic took a bite of his fruit. He wiped his beard after each bite.

Valerie came back out after a few minutes with a Nuka Cola and a sweet roll. She sat next to him against the tree and took a bite of her sweet roll. "This tastes better than that."

" _Health_ ," Vic replied. He took the Nuka Cola out of her hands, opened it, took a long swig, and then gave it back.

"Hey!"

He took a bite of mutfruit and then shrugged.

* * *

 **6.1**

* * *

After a long line of questioning with a large number of people, Svetlana and James finally found themselves at a small pawnshop.

"Hey," said James as he knocked on the door. "Do you happen to have a .45 pistol here? I heard you got a good one."

"300 caps," said the shopkeeper. "It's this one right here." He pulled it out from under the desk. "Interested?"

Svet pulled James to the side for a quick discussion. "That's ridiculous. Let me kill him and you can take the gun, the rest of your things, _and_ whatever else you want."

"We've caused enough mayhem for one week Svet, I'll just buy it," James offered. He forked over the caps, took the gun, and then asked, "Do you happen to have a katana and a hat. About ye big?" He mimicked the length of his hat with his hands.

"Had 'em. I sold them to a young man from Grand City. He looked like a pimp. The hat suited the look."

Svet laughed at this, but James rolled his eyes. "Thank you," James said, and they both left.

The road to Grand City wasn't too long from there, and they made it before sundown. James immediately asked a resident for directions to a brothel.

The resident was a woman who looked at him, looked at Svet, raised an eyebrow, and then told them it was in Track 12.

The brothel had pulsing music and lights that changed colors. It seemed more like a nightclub than a place where a guy could get off.

A few women tried to approach James, and one tried to approach Svet, but the two waved them off. James asked one if there was a pimp with a black hat and a sword, and she pointed him to a room that said 'employees only', but told James that he didn't have the hat anymore.

"Does he owe you money?" the prostitute asked.

"No," said James. "He owes me a hat."

He knocked on the door until the owner of the place came out in a bright purple suit and James' hat. He had the sword in his hand, and was twirling it casually. He looked at Svetlana. "Looking to sell that broad off to me?"

"Actually, I'm looking to buy that sword from you," James replied. "Say, 200?"

"Say, get out of my hair unless you want to trade your whore for them," replied the owner.

"I'm not his whore," Svet snapped.

"Yeah, if anything, I'm her whore," James offered. "In a platonic way. Friend whore?"

The owner ignored this and said, "Lots of guys have a fetish for tall and cranky. I'm personally not a fan of small tits and a scowl, but it'll do for a lot of fellas."

Svetlana pushed James out of the way and stood towering above the owner, with her at 6' 5" and him at around 5' 8".

"Let me guess, you think you're the toughest broad around?" the owner rolled his eyes. "No, you're just tall. I like your face and all, but your bod and your attitude doesn't cut it."

Svetlana punched him in the nose, blood sprayed everywhere, and people started to panic.

A couple of whores ran to their rooms, and clients started to funnel out of the area. Svetlana hit him again.

"Svet, stop." James pulled the owner up to his height and asked, "Where is the hat?"

The owner spit blood on James and said, "Some little bitch took it. Not my problem."

James dropped the owner, took his sword, and used it to kill the owner. Meanwhile, Svet was punching down guards left and right.

"Let's get out," said James, and soon they were both out as if nothing had ever happened. "I really don't know where my hat is," James mumbled.

They walked around the city for a while until they noticed a little girl, no older than 10, running around with James' hat flopping about on her head.

"Hey!" James called. "Nice hat."

She stopped in front of James, made finger-guns, and pretended to shoot him. "Bang!"

"Ah!" James said, clutching his chest. "You got me!" He kneeled.

"I am a bounty hunter! Bang!" She pretended to shoot him again and he pretended to collapse.

"You're the best one I've ever seen!" he exclaimed. "My bounty is worth 1 million caps!"

"This is my bounty hunting hat!" she cried. "But I like you. I'll let you live... for now."

"But you've shot me!" James objected.

She ran up to him and pretended to inject his chest with a stimpak. "You're healed now," she told him.

Then a woman ran up to both of them, grabbed the little girl by the hand, and apologized to James. "She gets so out of hand sometimes. Did she take that hat from you, mister?"

"Me?" James asked innocently. "I can't pull off hats. Cute kid."

The mother smiled and dragged her daughter away.

"You could have gotten that hat back," Svetlana informed him once the pair was out of earshot.

"Nah, that was her bounty hunting hat," he explained. "I'll find another one."

Svetlana looked unsure, but shrugged. "James, I'm sorry about Vault 113," she told him, referring to the news that nobody in the vault knew anything about science or technology.

"Hey, if I keep myself out of trouble, it shouldn't speed up anymore," he offered. "I'll be fine. Do you want to look at the bounties?"

"Yes."

The two walked to see the bounty wall, where there was a large posted in a pretty cursive font that read, _Legate Numeria, 16,000 caps, wanted dead._

"I could buy 1,000 hats for that many caps," James told Svet. "Write all of that down. We're going to get that bounty."

"We've never fucked with the Legion before," replied Svetlana.

"I'll fuck with anything once," James said. "Plus, that's a high number. You're good at math. Tell me, is that number high?"

"It's high," said Svetlana.

"Then let's make our way to the Hamptons and kill this Legate Numeria."

* * *

 **7.1**

* * *

Camisha made it to Port Jefferson, where they were offering boat rides to East Hampton. Her baseball bat was slung over her shoulder, and she looked tired, but not guilty. Of course she felt a little bad about David – she genuinely did like him, but she knew she had to do this without him. He was clever and he was tactical, and Cam was headstrong. She needed an audience with the Legion immediately.

"Are you waiting for someone?" a woman asked her. The girl was young, no older than 18, and she was small and lean with dark hair and dark skin.

"Me? No, I'm looking for someone," Cam replied.

"Here?"

"East Hampton," replied Cam. "Are you looking for someone?"

"Not really," the other girl replied. "I'm Kiran."

"I'm Cam."

"I guess we're going to take the boat together," Kiran said. "I'm just travelling."

"Do you want to sit next to me on the boat, then?" Cam raised an eyebrow and grinned, and Kiran nodded. "Do you get out much?"

"I'm a little new to 'getting out,'" Kiran admitted.

"I'm looking for my girlfriend," Cam told her. "She may or may not be at the Legion's headquarters."

"Oh! Me too!" Kiran announced.

"You're... also looking for my girlfriend?"

"No, I mean I also like girls. I figured that a good place to start the discussion. Tell me about her."

"Her name is Katherine and she's the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. We lived in Vault 85 together, and man, nobody could compare. Even pre-war pinup girls can't compare." Cam was lost in thought, but Kiran was listening with eager ears.

"Well, it's settled then! I'll come help you find her!"

"As long as you don't try to stop me or anything."

"Who am I to get in the way of love?" Kiran offered. "Hey, the boat's here. Let's go!"

* * *

 **8.1**

* * *

There were two eyebots at the shop – one was broken down, and one whizzed about the shop every so often. It only spoke in French, though, which was distracting to everybody around, but nobody had the heart to decommission him, since he'd been with the shop since it first opened pre-war.

The young man who ran the shop inherited it from his father and he loved working there, even with the charming foreign robot. Actually, Samuel didn't know if the robot was charming or not, given that he never understood a word it said.

" _Si j'avais une pénis, je le mettrais dans ton bouche,"_ said Pierre, the eyebot.

"Thanks Pierre," replied Samuel. "I always appreciate your comments."

" _Tu devrais apprécier mon bite,"_ Pierre replied. He whirred around for a second and then settled on the desk.

The bell rang when a tall traveller came into the store. He was wearing full Desert Ranger Combat gear and his hair was long, blasted back, and his face was covered in stubble.

"Welcome," said Samuel, and Pierre said " _Bienvenue_ ," which really did mean 'welcome' in French.

"Pardon his French," Samuel joked.

"Pardoned," Jonathan agreed. His deep blue eyes scanned the store for repair parts.

"Where did you get that scar?" Samuel asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

Jonathan's scar started from the bridge of his nose, closer to the left eyebrow, and slashed along his face diagonally, narrowly missing his right eye and ending at the right corner of his lip.

"Machete from a Legion soldier," Jonathan admitted.

" _J'entends que le Legion coupe les pénis de leurs ennemis. C'est vrai?" asked Pierre._

"Uh, bonjour," Jonathan said to Pierre.

" _Bonjour_..." Pierre mumbled back.

"Does he speak English? I mean, he responds to English as if he speaks it, but it doesn't come out of his... hull?"

"Yeah, I think he understands. His audio box is a little bit busted," Samuel told Jonathan.

"Can I look at it?" Jonathan asked.

"Oh, sure. Pierre likes being tinkered with, I think," Samuel offered.

" _Oui, mettez votre main dans mon cul,"_ agreed Pierre.

"Okay," said Jonathan. He took Pierre out of the air and placed him on the table. He opened the back of Pierre and looked inside.

Pierre made a whirring noise. " _Oui, papa,"_ he announced.

"Did he just call me dad?" Jonathan asked, using his rudimentary pre-war French knowledge.

Samuel shrugged.

"This really _is_ busted," Jonathan agreed. "I don't think I can fix it. I'm better with guns, you know?"

"I get it," said Samuel. "If you really wanted, you could take Pierre off my hands and try to fix his speech output?" he offered.

"Oui or non?" Jonathan offered Pierre. "The last travelling companion I had was a ghoul who decided to stay and drink at a ghoul bar, so I'm used to odd company."

" _Peut-être_ ," said Pierre.

"That wasn't oui or non," Samuel informed the robot.

" _Je voudrais dire 'oui' à votre bite,"_ was Pierre's helpful reply, directed at Jonathan.

"Sorry, I don't think I'm into travelling with your robot. If I meet anyone who can help, I'll send them your way," offered Jonathan.

" _Est-ce que votre bite est aussi grand que votre taille_?" Pierre demanded.

"I like him, though," said Jonathan.

"He's charming," replied Samuel. "I think?"

"I'd say so," Jonathan agreed. "I don't see anything I need, so I'll head out. Nice to meet you two."

" _Sucez-vous mon bite!"_ cried Pierre, but Jonathan did not understand.

He exited the store a little less sure of himself than he was before, but he had to admit he kind of liked that robot.

He wondered what it was talking about – maybe it knew how to fix its language outputs. Hell, maybe it didn't even understand English at all.

He ran a hand through his hair, keeping it pushed back. He had gotten wind of the Legion in New York, but so far nobody had told him anything about the NCR or the Rangers.

He assumed they'd have followed the Legion to New York, but he guessed he was wrong.

" _Monsieur!"_ Pierre came whizzing out of the store, and Samuel came following him in pant. _"Voici! Un cadeau!"_

"Hey, it seems like Pierre wants you to have this," said Samuel. "It's a copy of his memory core. If you can find another robot to stick it in, it might speak some English to you."

"Oh. Thank you?"

" _De rien,"_ replied Pierre.

Jonathan put it in his pocket.

"The old family rumor is that Pierre used to be a genius, so they uploaded his conscious to a server, but it got scrambled and put him in the bot," said Samuel. "Might be a nice AI mainframe if you're into that stuff."

"I, uh, I'm not. But someone probably is," Jonathan offered.

"Do you not want the core?" Samuel asked.

"No, it's okay. It's cool. I like it."

Pierre buzzed. " _Au revoir, beauté,"_ he said to Jonathan.

"I, yeah, goodbye. Au revoir to you too... beauté?"

" _Oui_ ," said Pierre.

"See you around!" Samuel plucked Pierre from the air and tucked him under his arm. He started to walk back to his store, and Jonathan was still very confused.

When Samuel reentered, Jonathan pulled the memory core and looked at it. It was attached to a personality matrix, meaning if he ever wanted, he could upload it to a protectron or something and have a Pierre 2.0. He wasn't quite sure he wanted that, though.

For some reason, he got the impression that Pierre was referencing dicks more often than not. Still, the core and matrix could be something fun to do if he ever ran into an empty robot.

Or something.

* * *

 **All of the French, I believe, Google translates alright. Let me know what you all thought, and I'll be sure to update again once I get back from Boston this weekend!**

 **Also, if I PM'd you and you didn't respond, I'll write whatever you put in your PM into the story next chapter.**

 **I'm always open to suggestions/snippets of chapters you write yourself just to keep things fresh.**

 **Question of the Chapter: are there any particular little plots/stories you want to see your character(s) be part of? If so, what are they?**


	17. Chapter 16

**Hey, I'm currently replaying Fallout 4 after visiting Boston for a few days, so I'm trying to get a better sense of the characters in the Brotherhood for the story.**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

"Okay, black or brown?" Elizabeth showed David two leather scraps.

"I wouldn't call this 'making a difference,'" he replied. "Brown."

"It's a fashion difference," replied Elizabeth. "Yeah, brown matches my outfit better."

"Does it match the Railroad's outfit?" David asked.

"You know, maybe," Elizabeth said. "But if they designed the gloves, they'd get to pick the color." She tucked the leather into one of her back pockets. "Deacon, what's Quasar up to?" she called.

"Still moping," Deacon called back. "I told him he ought to clear his head, though. Maybe take a road trip."

Just then, as if he were summoned, Quasar came out of his room in his full gear and poncho. "Everybody!" he announced.

"The prodigal son returns," Deacon announced. "You going on the retreat I recommended?" he asked.

"Yes," Quasar said. "You still offering me that jet ski ride to the Hamptons?"

"I still am," said Deacon.

"Hey Liz," said Quasar. "I am going to the Hamptons. I need to clear my head."

"No problem, Q," she replied. "Does this put our 'thing' on hold, then?" she asked.

"I'd say so. It's a good thing, though," he offered. "When I come back you gotta tell me about whatever sexual exploits you have without me."

"Likewise, asshole." Elizabeth stood up and hugged him. "Sorry about taking you to the Institute."

"Shit happens." And with that, Quasar was gone.

"Travelling companions keep leaving me too," David offered.

"Sometimes people like us aren't allowed to have friends," Elizabeth replied. She was using a tool that David didn't recognize to lace wires through fabric.

David sat silently for a moment before asking, "Are you an engineer?"

"What? Ew. No, I'm a scientist. I just happen to know a little bit about these things." She made David hold a wire while she did something with a piece of metal. "So, where are you from?"

"The Mojave," said David.

"And you came all the way here?"

"I did."

"I'm from Cambridge," she told him. "Did you get out much as a kid?"

"I never had much of a chance to meet new people," he told her. "How well do you know the NCR?"

"Not very well," Elizabeth admitted. "Tell me about it, though."

"It's more of a post-war organized military that pitted itself against a different group called Caesar's Legion," David explained. "I had an assault squad, but the sniper defected to the Legion and murdered everyone else in it. If you put a 'good' and a 'bad' on it, the NCR were the good guys."

"Are they still around? I know that the Legion is in the Hamptons, but I haven't heard of the NCR here yet. Try this one." She handed him a glove, and he slipped it over his hand. It was a little bit tight, but it fit.

"What do you want me to do?" David asked.

"Snap and then shake hands with me."

David snapped his right hand and felt a little vibration in his palm. Then he shook Elizabeth's hand, felt a pulse, and then the vibrating stopped. "Did it do what it's supposed to?" he asked Elizabeth.

"Holy shit, yes," she replied. Her right arm was completely limp, as if she had no control over it. "My arm is basically a synth arm," she explained.

"And this glove is meant to shut down synths?"

"Electronics in general," she replied. "I guess I have to reboot this. Excuse me." She used her left arm to take the glove back, and then she went off somewhere to turn her right arm back on.

"David, can you do me a favor? There's a raider den a little too close for comfort. Would you mind clearing it out?" Deacon came up to David.

"Ah, I guess not," David replied. "Now?"

"Tomorrow," Deacon replied. "For now just chill – have a beer. Enjoy your time here."

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

"What if I throw in 500 extra caps?" Candice asked the hotel receptionist.

The receptionist looked apologetic, but kept saying, "I can't make another room appear out of nowhere! The only room we have left is a one-bedroom suite."

Candice let out a very, very long groan.

Martin was sitting on a nearby chair catching his breath after the workout Candice had just but him through an hour ago. He definitely knew he was losing weight, and certainly felt the fittest he ever had. Plus, once he got really fit, he could hold his own against James, that wannabe Samurai-cowboy, and Svetlana, his resting bitchface girlfriend. Martin shook them from his thoughts and looked over at Candice, who just finished haggling.

"I have good news and bad news," she told him.

"Bad news first," Martin requested.

"Bad new is every room is booked except for one, which only has one bedroom," she told him.

"And the good news?"

"It's a suite with a private bathroom."

"Hey, that is good," he agreed. He stood up. "But what about the one bed? I guess I could crash on the floor... or a chair…"

"The bed is apparently big enough for two people," she replied. "As long as you don't do anything creepy, we can sleep in the same bed."

Martin fought down a blush, but he figured Candice wouldn't be able to differentiate it from his post-workout flush. "Well, if you're sure," he mumbled.

They got into an elevator and rode up to their room. They swiped their key and observed the room.

"So... how can we afford this?" Martin asked after taking in the well furnished room and the clean floors.

"I have my ways."

"You didn't offer to bang the manager, did you?" Martin asked quickly.

"No!" Candice snapped. "I just told him we'd take care of a Triggermen gang problem he's been having."

"I thought they were more of a Commonwealth thing," Martin told her.

"The Brotherhood finished cleansing the Commonwealth, so the triggermen came here. The Brotherhood is following close behind, too."

"Oh! Are you okay?" asked Martin.

"Am I okay?"

"Well, they don't like mutants… and you've told me you've been enhanced, so I just assumed they wouldn't like that."

"Don't worry," said Candice. "We'll steer clear of them. Plus, I look pretty normal. Now go get cleaned up," she ordered.

Martin pulled off his armor, slipped into the bathroom, and then took off his clothes. The shower was clean and pure, as well as hot. He washed away the grime and sweat from his past week of training, and then stepped out of the shower. He looked at himself in the mirror.

His cheeks were losing some of their fat, and his double chin was starting to disappear, making him look almost chiseled. His arms were more toned, and his stomach fat was starting to recede. His eyes moved to his hair, and he impulsively took a pair of scissors from a drawer.

He started to cut away the longer strands of hair until he sported a much shorter haircut.

He exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel to see Candice sitting drinking a bottle of water. She did a little double take and asked, "Did you just do something?"

"I thought since I'm starting to lose weight, I'd give myself a haircut to try to go with the look, and so it doesn't get sweaty when I work out. You don't like it?"

"No! No, it suits you," Candice told him. She stood up. "Now get dressed, we need to take care of those Triggermen."

Martin nodded and went back into the bathroom to throw his clothes and armor back on.

The two exited their new hotel room together, Martin with new, short, wet hair.

* * *

 **2.2**

* * *

Martin wasn't a professional haircutter, but once he got to someone who _was_ a professional, he would absolutely let them fix up his hair. He certainly didn't do a bad job on his hair. It was cute, albeit wonky.

It didn't matter at the moment, since his hair was hidden under his helmet. He and Candice were standing outside of a door to a pub, which was the Triggermen hideout at the moment.

Candice slipped her 10mm pistol from her back pocket, and she pushed in the door slowly.

She heard a voice grumble, " _what's that_?" and then she shoved in the door with her foot. She and Martin ran in, side-by-side, and she began to shoot. She moved steadily and methodically, moving her gun from one man to another in smooth lines.

Her precision would have terrified Martin if he hadn't seen it many times before. He sliced down the Triggermen who used melee weapons, but for the most part Candice was taking out every threat in the room.

In six minutes, the entire pub was cleared.

They made their way back to the hotel, where Martin went off to the hotel's barbershop after dropping his armor off in the room.

"Hey," he said to the barber, an older man with a head of perfectly trimmed hair and a white beard that suited his face well.

"Hi. I need a haircut," said Martin. "Or, just a fix-up. I trimmed my hair myself," he explained.

"I can see that. Sit down, tell me what you want me to do with it," said the barber.

"I want to keep it short, but I don't want to look like a dick or anything," explained Martin.

"Not a dick," the barber confirmed. "Okay." He whipped out a pair of scissors and began to clean up Martin's hair.

When the barber was done, Martin's hair was tousled and wavy, shorter than it was long, and Martin knew it was going to suit him once he lost more weight.

Martin gave the man a couple of caps, and then took the elevator back to their room. When Candice saw him, she said, "Hey, that looks a lot better. Did the hotel barber do it?"

"Yeah, he fixed it up," said Martin. The hair only half-suited his still-round face, but Candice could tell the waves would frame a skinner face nicely.

He took a Nuka Cola from the fridge, but before he could drink it, Candice exclaimed, "Martin, your arm!"

He looked at his wrist to reveal a gash that one of the Triggermen must have given him. Martin took a sip of Nuka Cola.

Candy approached him with a stimpak, but the gash started to heal itself. Martin took another sip of Nuka Cola and then the gash was completely gone by his third sip.

"Martin, did that Nuka Cola just heal your arm?"

"Oh… Yeah… After I left Vault 81, I got really thirsty and the first thing I found was this half empty bottle of Nuka Cola. My Geiger counter kind of went off, but I drank it anyway," Martin explained.

"So, you were mutated by Nuka Cola?" asked Candy.

"I think so?" Martin offered. "You can take my sweet rolls, but my Nuka Cola stays," he told Candice.

To his surprise, she actually laughed. "Okay, Martin," she agreed. "I'm going to get ready to sleep," she informed him.

"Sleep... right, sure. Do you mind if I go down to the gym?"

"The gym?"

"Yeah, the hotel gym."

"Oh, sure, go ahead."

Martin ran down to the gym without his armor and started to work on the pre-war exercise equipment. When he was done, he showered again and slid into bed with Candice, as far away from her as he could.

* * *

 **3.1**

* * *

"I want an audience with your leader," said Cam to three legates sitting around a fire.

"Excuse me?" the biggest one asked.

"I said I want an audience."

The biggest one stood up. "You can't have an audience with Caesar," he told her.

"What if I beat one of you in one-on-one combat?" asked Cam. "You, big guy. If I kick your ass, let me talk to Caesar."

The big guy took a spear from a pile near the fire. "You won't win."

Cam brought her bat down, and he blocked with the spear. Then he jabbed at her, and Kiran shuffled out of both of their ways. She sat next to the other two Legates.

Cam's aluminum was too much for the spear, and it broke in two. He ducked and took a machete from the same pile. He was too large to outspeed her, even with his lighter weapon.

She managed to get a good hit against his side, and they both heard an ugly crack. She hit his leg in and he fell to the ground, clutching at his side and his leg.

The other two legates stood in panic. "You can't see Caesar!" the smallest one announced.

Kiran pulled her plasma pistol out. "Are we seeing Caesar, or is this going to be a shootout?"

It was a shootout. Kiran and Cam each picked a remaining legate, and plasma and sparks both began to fly around the area. Kiran got the upper hand and kicked one of the legates onto their fire.

He shrieked and rolled off, scrambling to his feet and running the other way. The other legate ran, both of them leaving the big one to fend for himself.

Cam and Kiran left him.

"That didn't quite work out," Kiran mumbled. "We might be on some sort of hit list now."

"I think we'll made due," replied Cam. "I'm going to mow down every last legate I find if that's what it takes."

"I think it might take just that," replied Kiran. "Besides, who is the legion to stand in the way of love?"

"Exactly!" Cam announced. Then she paused. "What do you think has become of Katherine? Do you think she's a slave?"

"I mean, if I had to guess, maybe," replied Kiran. "But maybe she's not! Maybe's she's something kind of good like a chef?"

Cam let out a laugh. "I've seen Katherine cook. It's a little underwhelming, and she'd make a better comedian than chef if you handed her a stove."

"I'm real sorry you lost her," Kiran said.

"It's fine, because I'm getting her back now."

* * *

 **4.1**

* * *

Benjamin was a little bit confused. His reading had gotten better, but he couldn't quite make out what the long words on Star Paladin Harris' slideshow said. Star Paladin Harris was pacing a long room, telling the squires about tactics and assaults.

"A good number of you will end up seeing the field one day, from field scribes to knights," he explained. "Can anybody tell me what I mean when I said, 'check your six?'"

Before Benjamin could raise his hand, another little boy, maybe 12, shot his own hand up. "Look behind you!" the boy cried.

Harris nodded. "We view the ground as a clock – ahead is 12." The slideshow changed to a picture of an analog clock. "Behind is six, left is nine, right is three," he explained. "We're going to do some exercises to help memorize what soldiers mean when they refer to directions on a clock," he explained. Then he added, "Well, I can't. I have to go debrief for the first ground mission in the Liberty Wastes."

A couple kids clapped and Harris didn't look like he knew how to respond to that.

"Ad Victoriam, squires."

"Ad Victoriam!" they all chanted enthusiastically.

He shuffled out of the room.


	18. Chapter 17

**A lot of you pointed out that Legates are generals, and that Cam shouldn't have been able to take them out so easily. Let's say one of the men was a Prime Legionary, and two were Recruit Legionaries.**

 **Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

There was a waystation that was more of a shack, but Cam didn't mind. She was sipping on a lukewarm beer, and Kiran was drinking maybe-purified water after having taken a sip of Cam's beer and saying, "ew."

Cam finished up her beer and Kiran didn't want to run the risk of getting radiation sickness, so she poured out her water. "Okay, where to next, Cam?" she announced excitedly.

Cam smiled at her. "You're really interesting, you know that? You act like you've never seen the world, but you fight like you know it better than anyone."

"Well," Kiran said. "I'm a synth, you know. I think we talked about it once a few nights ago. Love is just so – you know – so _human_ , I can't help but want to bring you and Katherine together."

"Fair, fair, point," replied Cam. They stepped out of the shack. "Hey, I'm such a dumbass. I accidentally tipped six extra caps, can you go in and get six caps back for me?"

Kiran squinted her eyes, mildly suspicious, but then nodded and ran back into the small bar. Cam sat on the bench sitting right outside of the bar.

Cam quickly stood up, shut the bar's door and slid the bench in front of it. She huffed, and then said, "are any of you fine, angry-looking fellows going to let me have an audience with Caesar?"

"That's kay-sar," replied a bald white man in his thirties. "Hard c, but I doubt you studied much Latin in whatever dirt pile you're from." He had a ghastly scar that left his right eye permanently bloodshot, and his wrinkles were deep. His beard was already graying.

He had a helmet tucked under his arm – it was adorned with feathers, and his armor was red and splattered with blood. He was a Legionary Decanus, but Cam didn't know this.

"Fine, I want an audience with _Caesar_ ," Cam said, pronouncing it like the man did.

The Decanus slipped a machete from his side. "You wounded a soldier of ours," he informed her. "A few soldiers, in fact. Do I look like somebody who wants their soldiers wounded?"

"Look Mister, I'm not your enemy, but I need to talk to Caesar. He attacked _me_ ," she snapped.

"After he told you no," the man replied. "You need to pay."

There was a whizz, and an arrow shot through the air. It dug into Cam's shoulder, and she heeled over. The man stood completely still as another arrow hit her calf. She flopped over onto the ground, and then she heard banging from inside of the bar.

"Cam, open the door!" Kiran begged from inside. "What's going on?"

The two archers ran up to both of them. "Decanus Lyon," said a tall archer with dark skin. "Should we get the one inside?"

"No," replied Lyon. "The one inside isn't the one who wants this audience so badly." He grabbed Cam's chin with his hand and pushed her head up so they made eye contact. "You'll get your audience, girl."

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

Cam woke up on the ground, in the dark, with her arrow wounds bandaged. Her head was pounding, and she couldn't remember when she lost consciousness.

The man, Lyon, knocked on one of the bars of the cell. "Girl," he said. "I don't know you. I don't know your name. But you know what I do know?" Cam didn't say anything, and he continued. "I know you're about to fight in our arena."

"No I'm not," Cam spat back. "You shot my arm _and_ my leg."

"All the more impressive it's going to be when you fight this mongrel. Especially if you win." Lyon winked.

"Do I get a machete or anything?"

Lyon pulled a screwdriver from his back pocket. "Kind of."

The two archers that Cam recognized, approached her, and threw a sac over her head. She struggled the entire time, earning a kick to her leg wound. They talked for a couple of minutes before she was shoved onto her knees and the bag was taken off.

Lyon sprinted out of the arena and Cam heard men jeering at her.

She fumbled for the screwdriver and looked across the arena at a mongrel foaming at the mouth.

She held it with her good hand and waited for the mongrel to charge at her.

"Fuck it!" shouted somebody from the crowd.

It bolted at her and she managed to dodge it and scratch its side. The crowd booed, and she struck its side with her screwdriver, piercing its hide.

It squealed, and then jumped on top of her. Then the crowd cheered, but she rolled and shoved it off of her.

It was a wrestle of trying to keep its teeth away from her before she finally stabbed it in the eye. It whined and collapsed. Some people cheered, some booed, and one man shouted, "I bet 30 on this!"

She fell to her knees, exhausted, and Lyon walked back out. "Thank you, thank you!" He announced. "That was my defective mongrel, and my defective woman!" He jammed a bag back onto Cam's head and started to drag her away, but she was too tired and defeated to struggle.

Soon, she was back in her cell. "Having fun here?" Lyon asked.

"Fuck you," she huffed.

"You've gotta pay for what you did to those legionaries," he replied casually. "Hey kid, maybe we'll let you see Caesar!" he offered. "Let's play a game."

"No," replied Cam.

"Okay," said Lyon. "Normally I'd have the Breaker come, eh, tickle you, but you really only hurt a recruit and a couple idiots." He shrugged. "If you'd killed anyone, I'd bring in Numeria."

"Fuck you, fuck the Breaker, and fuck Numeria. I want to see Caesar and I want to see Katherine Marsh!" Cam stood despite her leg and gripped the bars.

Lyon looked at her eyes for a second, his own eyes blue and beautiful, a contrast to his hard, unsmiling face. And then he laughed. He laughed loudly, and he laughed in her face. With his eyes and his smile, he almost looked like a real man, but Cam knew he wasn't.

"Oh, girl." He wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, poor girl."

"Where is she?" Cam demanded.

"Not here!"

"Then _where_!"

"You truly came to the wrong place if you wanted to see Katherine Marsh," he told her. "Look, I like you. I shouldn't, but I do. You're headstrong, but you're naïve."

"I'm not naïve," she snapped.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Right, right."

"Take me to her!"

"She's not here!" Lyon stood quickly. "We wouldn't mind crucifying you here, you know?"

Cam said nothing.

"Yeah, you know. But let me tell you, girl – seeing the woman you're looking for is going to be torture enough for you." He flashed his white smile with his pretty eyes and then stood up to talk off.

Cam collapsed and sat with her legs crossed, only letting a single tear fall into her lap.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

"This shit only happens to me," Elizabeth grumbled to herself. "Who else but me?" She was clutching her plasma pistol to her chest and wearing the Railroad's glove. Well, it was her glove, but she would have never gotten the blueprints without them.

She counted four more explosions and then peeked out from behind the car she was hiding behind. The legendary super mutant brute lost track of her, but she was afraid to move incase he found her again.

She wasn't much of a field worker, but it wasn't like she was useless in battle. She was a little smarter than a mutant, she liked to think, and so she hadn't died yet. Key word 'yet'.

The mutant turned around and walked a little bit in the opposite direction, when Elizabeth turned back around and saw a very tall woman running in her direction. "Only me," she grumbled again, fumbling for her pistol again.

The woman was wearing leather pants and a leather belt, along with a cream shirt and green vest, all under a fur cloak of some sort. She was tall, around 6 feet, with a great deal of muscle. Her skin was smooth and dark, and her long black hair flowed behind her in a braid.

Oh, and her face was covered in blood.

Elizabeth nearly dropped her gun when the hulking figure neared.

"You!" said the woman. An eagle feather was woven into her hair, and the last foot was dyed blood red.

"Who, her?" Elizabeth gestured to the car.

"Hold this." The stranger handed her a large egg.

"What is this?" Elizabeth held it out with both of her arms extended as if it were a bomb.

The woman whipped out a western revolved and ran again, towards the mutant this time.

Elizabeth turned the egg around in her hands. "This is an egg." She said eventually, to no one in particular. "Thanks," she mumbled.

There was a commotion coming from the direction of the mutant and the strange woman, and the mutant had fallen while the woman was alive. "Thank you for holding it," she said.

"Yeah, no, it's great. It's a good egg. It's big." Elizabeth shuffled uncomfortably. "Who are you?"

The woman wore a black bandana and a leather necklace with a small pouch of herbs.

"You can call me Little Wolf."

"Do you want your egg back?" Elizabeth asked her.

"I think whatever is inside is dead," Little Wolf admitted. "I found it alone in a nest."

"What… kind of nest?"

"I'm not sure. Do you know if it's alive?"

Elizabeth kneeled and put the egg down. She was on her knees with her ear up against the egg, trying to listen for something.

"Are you… inter-egg-sted in that?" Little Wolf asked after a moment of silence.

"Am I... Uh… It's… egg-traordinary?" Elizabeth tried to do the pun thing back. "I think something might be alive."

"Will it hatch?"

"Not without a little motivation," Elizabeth explained. She snapped and her Railroad glove buzzed. She put her palm against the egg and zapped it.

Little Wolf stayed silent, watching Elizabeth shoot electricity into the egg. And then, the egg shook. It began to crack after a minute of doing nothing, and then something started to crawl out.

Elizabeth fell back into a sitting position and they both watched a Deathclaw hatching crawl out. "Ah!" Elizabeth tried to scramble for her plasma pistol, but Little Wolf stopped her by touching her shoulder lightly.

The hatchling made eye contact with Elizabeth for a very, very long time, at least to Elizabeth, and then it crawled over to her and rubbed its face on her arm.

"It thinks you're its mother," Little Wolf told her.

Elizabeth scrambled to her feet. "I am not."

"Try to tell it that." Little Wolf gave an apologetic smile that read as 'I'm very sorry for giving you a child'. "You can pick it up."

"I don't want it!" Elizabeth argued.

"Deathclaw hatchlings don't have very sharp claws. They're actually rather docile. Plus, it thinks you gave birth to it. And you kind of did. It might have died in there if you hadn't."

Elizabeth looked down at the wet, beige, baby mutated chameleon. It looked back at her. She awkwardly grabbed it under the arms and held it at eye level.

"You should name it," Little Wolf told her.

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and looked at it. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

Little Wolf leaned down a little and got a look at the hatchling's pelvis. "It's a boy."

They both looked at him. "Can you name him?" Elizabeth asked.

"I mean, you're its mom," replied Little Wolf.

"Can I name it Harold?"

"Harold?"

"Yeah… I had an uncle, kind of, named Harold. If I have to name it, I'm going to name it after Harold," Elizabeth explained. She was holding it out in front of her, even though she truly did not want it to be her child.

Harold wasn't making any noise, he just was just looking at Elizabeth. "Ahh," he said.

"Do you know how to train these?" Elizabeth put Harold down.

"A little, but you don't really see Deathclaw hatchlings often," Little Wolf explained.

"Alright, I have to go to an old vault, so if I go, will Harold follow me?"

"Yes?"

"Will… you follow me?"

"Do you want me to help you and your son?"

Elizabeth groaned. "Yes."

* * *

 **3.1**

* * *

The pre war bank that Svetlana and James called their hideout was so derelict aside from the working vault that no one ever thought to look inside of. James grabbed a couple hundred caps from an ammo tin.

James' side of the vault was messier than Svet's, and it was piled with pre-war books. He shoved a spare 10mm pistol into his coat and slipped some frag grenades into a bag.

"Okay, Svet are you –" he was going to ask her if she was ready, but when he saw what she was doing, he finished with "actually bringing that?"

"Of course," said Svet. "I'm bringing my baby on this job." She was holding an anti-material rifle in her hands. It had all of the modifications Svet could put on it, and she haughtily told him that, "this is the greatest and most accurate rifle forged by human hands."

"I've heard that speech a thousand times, thank you Svet," James said bluntly. "Besides, that's impractical. Only good for killing Deathclaws."

"I agree," she lied, ignoring him and disassembling it. She tucked the pieces into a suitcase and winked at him. He rolled his eyes, used to her antics by now, and the two got going.

"So, we're posing as slavers looking for new stock," he told her once they were out of the bank.

"Can't wait," she responded. "It shouldn't be hard for you," she commented. "Maybe you can think of it as a slaver reunion of sorts."

"Ah, maybe," he replied. "You're the one who has the right personality and mean streak for it."

"Natural born slavers," commented James. "Let's go. I'll get in touch with some of the Legion slavekeepers."

* * *

 **3.2**

* * *

He knew the slaver hubs, and he knew where in the Hamptons to go to find the trade. The bar, _Jizzy's,_ was an information hub after hours. James was leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette. He didn't particularly love them, but every slaver did it, and it made him look more natural in the setting.

He puffed it out.

He walked up to a man in legion armor and he said in code, "I've always found your cattle to be the best."

The man wordlessly took a puff of his own cigarette. "They are the best."

James said, "I think I need two."

"You'll get one and I'll choose the price," the man replied. He had a graying beard and a terrible scar that shot through his right eye. "I'm Lyon."

"Call me Morgan."

"Is she yours?" Lyon gestured to Svetlana. "She's a big one."

"I'm his coworker and I'll skewer you with your own ego if you make another comment like that," Svetlana snapped. She was wearing a dark outfit with a red jacket, and her hair was black as ever. Her eyes were intense and amber, and she did not look like she wanted to deal with a sexist slaver.

Lyon laughed out loud. "Okay, girl," he said.

Svetlana looked like she was about to pounce, but James put a hand out and stopped her. "Show us the stock, man."

"Come along," he requested.

* * *

 **4.1**

* * *

Kiran was sitting by the water drinking a soda. She would have run after Cam. She would have tried to save Cam, she truly would have, but she couldn't. She couldn't save Cam, and she began a somber walk back to the port where she could get a boat.

She kicked at the water.

"You don't look so good," a male voice told her. She turned around to look at the man – very tall, NCR uniform-clad, and white with dark hair.

"I think I'm a little lost," she replied.

The tall man came and sat next to her. "Do you want to see something?"

"Please don't show me your penis," Kiran replied.

"No, no, no," the tall guy said earnestly. "Look!" He pulled a flash drive from his pocket. "A mechanic passed me this – it's the personality matrix and memory core of a French speaking robot."

"Hm. I'm Kiran."

"Jonathan," said Jonathan. His legs were much longer than hers, so his calves were soaked. "The personality matrix is called Pierre."

"Are you looking for something to stick that in?" Kiran asked. "Gee, I guess it's kind of like you showing me your penis… Do you want to go off to get a drink before we start to look for something to run Pierre with?"

"Do you want to?" Jonathan asked. "I mean, it's an odd task."

"Yeah. I need to plan something else too," she said.

"Plan what?" asked Jonathan.

She told him all about Camisha.

He said, "I'm going to help you."


	19. Chapter 18

**So, I'm really happy about all of the positive reviews, you guys are just getting better and better as the story goes on! Also, I put a couple references to some books in section 1.1, so if you want to guess which books they are, feel free to comment.**

 **Happy almost birthday Ridley!**

 **Without further ado:**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

The Decanus from Jizzy's took Svet and James on a boat ride to Southampton through the night. Svet was lying down, gazing up at the stars. James noted to himself that her eyes looked almost red when they reflected the moonlight, and he wondered if Lyon noticed too.

Lyon was drinking something herbal, and he wasn't paying any attention to Svetlana. "So, Morgan and Bishop," he said to them. "Those are last names, aren't they?"

Svetlana and James stayed silent.

"Lyon is my last name too," said Lyon. "My first name is a little embarrassing."

"Sure," said James.

"What kind of slaves are you into, Morgan?" asked Lyon. "I'm a personal fan of late teens."

"I like mine early 20s," replied James, refusing to say anything alluding to enslaving children.

"We have some good kids," said Lyon.

Svetlana's eyes closed, but her ears perked up and she listened for James' response.

"I don't think so," he replied. "Early 20s."

"Kids are easier to train," Lyon offered. "Cheaper too. But, eh, who am I to tell you what to buy?"

"Right," James grumbled.

"Sit back, Morgan. Enjoy your ride. We have some books in the basement, can you read?"

"Yes," said James.

"Can she?" Lyon pointed at Svetlana.

"Better than me," James informed him. "I'll take a look," he said to Lyon. Lyon stood and led James down to the lower level of the ship. The ship wasn't necessarily huge, but there was a main deck and a lower level, and Lyon had a couple of books in the basement.

"If you buy a slave I'll throw in a free book. Like anything you see?"

Lyon crossed his arms and watched James pace the small library. He looked up and down, and even took some off of the shelves to flip through them. "Do you read?" he asked Lyon.

"When I get time to sit and focus, sure," Lyon replied. "When it comes to pre-war, history is my favorite. Kerouac too. I used to travel, and I found the sadness of the journeys in one of his novels relatable. You ever been sad, Morgan?"

"Not usually," replied James. He took a very old book from a shelf. "Have you read this?" He showed a scrappy book with an eye on the cover.

"Of course." Lyon smiled. "The legion likes to draw a little bit of its methods from the ending."

"Excuse me?" asked James.

"The Breaker, our torturer, likes the scene with the rats," Lyon explained.

"Hm Do you happen to know a place I can buy a good hat?" he asked. "I recently lost a favorite of mine."

"If it's not a legion helmet, we won't have it." He paused and watched James look at more of the books.

James placed a book on the table in the room and said, "I'd take this one."

Lyon brushed his fingers along the cover page. "We have a non-translated version too."

"Sorry _amigo,_ I can't read Spanish," replied James. "It's an epic – I've heard good things about this one."

"It's a satire. Long as fuck, though," Lyon said. "We just got a girl. Early 20s, spunky as hell. Would you be interested?"

"I'd need to see her first," James replied.

"Of course." Lyon nodded. "I'd never take a girl without getting a look at her first." Lyon yawned. "I'll see you later, Morgan. Keep looking around if you want." Lyon walked back upstairs.

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

They docked directly into the legion's encampment. The encampment was huge – half of it was on Scott Cameron Beach, and the other half was on the concrete connected to it. The beach's sand was harder than soft, especially after the heat from the war, giving it the same density as concrete. On the beach, in the pit of a wide, shallow hole in the ground was half-sized replica of the Roman coliseum, which James could only assume was the arena.

Lyon brought the two with him and took them directly to the arena after confiscating their weapons and bags. He called it a precaution. "Do you want to see that girl I was talking about fight?"

James and Svetlana exchanged uneasy glances, but James nodded. Lyon gave the two seats at the front of the arena, and Svetlana told Lyon she was going to go find a restroom. He gave her quick directions and she stood up and left.

Three quarters of the seats were full, with most of them men, and only around 10% women. Half of the spectators were in legionary armor, and the other half was wearing t-shirts and casual pants.

Lyon said, "As for you, Morgan, the man of the pair, I'd like you to look at this girl fight. If she dies, of course, you don't have to buy her." He chucked to himself.

A scruffy dark haired black man jogged out into the arena. He had long hair and a beard, and he was wearing simple pants and a red and gold jacket. "Good morning everyone!" This made James suddenly realize that it was indeed morning now. "Today we have the girl from last time against a new girl! She used to call herself Lil' Red before we got her – a self proclaimed pyromaniac!"

The crowd cheered.

"You could buy Red if she wins," Lyon whispered. "But I captured the other myself. She calls herself Cam."

James nodded.

Two women were forced into the arena, one with dark hair and olive skin, and the other with vibrant red hair and pale white skin. They both had a machete in hand, and they were both bandaged in various places.

"Do you treat them well?" James asked.

Lyon shrugged. "Well enough. They're slaves. You can do whatever you'd like with them."

"Do you have slaves?"

"No, I used to, but they tend to piss me off. I've strangled a girl or two," Lyon grumbled. "Watch the match."

James watched.

Lil' Red was shaking, her body aching for blood to spill, while Cam looked a little more sane, uncertainly shuffling with her machete in hand.

She was taken aback when Lil' Red began to bolt towards her, her machete swinging wildly from side to side.

Cam parried Red's first strike, but the force was so surprising she nearly fell back.

Red swung wildly, and she swung fast. She acted like she was chopping vegetables, striking back and forth with incredible speed and vigor. Cam was never given an opening until Red tripped over her own feet.

Cam slashed Red's shoulder, and Red retaliated by tackled Cam to the ground. Red punched Cam as hard as she could in the face, which fortunately wasn't very hard given that Red had a petite frame. Her energy was the only thing making her so challenging to fight.

Cam rolled over and tried to pin Red down, but the crowd's cheering was growing distracting.

They both got to their feet again and started to swing at each other again.

Svetlana came back and subtly shook her head at James.

Lyon greeted Svet with a hello and a wave. Then he turned to the woman next to him. "One claims to know you, Numeria," he told her. James and Svet nearly stood up when they heard Numeria's name mentioned.

Numeria was pale with black hair shaved on the left side and piercing blue eyes. They were unfriendly blue eyes, and suddenly James realized killing her wouldn't be easy. She had two tattoos, one around her right eye, and one on the shaved side of her head. She was in armor that looked more traditionally Roman than anyone else's there. It was steel and plated gold with a red cape draped over one shoulder. The sleeves where short, but she wore plated gauntlets as well.

"I don't recognize either," she replied. "Who are your new friends?"

"Slavers," Lyon replied. "They might want the winner. Do you want to place a bet?"

"No," replied Numeria. "The one with the red hair is obviously going to lose and we both know it."

Lyon grinned in agreement and looked at James and Svetlana. "Cam is a keeper, isn't she?"

Just then, Cam, who had been stabbed in the left arm, sliced Red's neck open with her own blade and then collapsed.

"Ouch," said Lyon. "You two wanna talk to her?"

"Fine," said James. "But first, I would love to get to know you." He flashed his blue eyes and charming smile at Numeria. He ran a hand through his blond hair, expecting her to agree.

"Big boy, I don't play for that team." Numeria stood up and left, leaving James dumbfounded and a little bit confused.

"Let's all grab breakfast this fine morning," said Lyon. "Before you make any decisions hungry."

James and Svetlana begrudgingly followed Lyon.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

Cam awoke to clapping. She found she was always passed out from exhaustion after fighting in the arena, and she'd never missed David as much as she did now.

"Fuck off Lyon," she groaned.

"I'd tell Lyon the same thing if I were you. But I'm much worse than Lyon," a female voice told her. She recognized the female voice, but barely. The voice was warped and different than she remembered.

"Katherine!" Cam exclaimed. She felt tears begin to pool in her eyes and she ran up to the front of her cells, gripping the bars as hard as she could. "Katherine, it's you!" But it wasn't her, and Cam realized this the second she looked into Numeria's cold, blue eyes.

"I would tell you I knew you too, but I don't," Numeria told her. "But I was called Katherine once. Of course, Katherine is long gone. Sorry, girl." She watched Cam's jaw drop and her tears spill.

"Katherine please!" Cam's hands slid down the bars and her legs gave way until she was on her knees, looking up at Numeria. "I love you!"

Numeria frowned. "Sentimental," she commented. "I don't know why you're crying, to be perfectly honest. We weren't that close, obviously. I don't even know you."

Cam was looking straight down, her hands still on the bars and her tears dropping onto the cell floor. "Katherine, please."

"Stop calling me that. From what I saw in the arena, you could have been an adept fighter." Numeria put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "No, you're a sniveling joke aren't you?"

"What did they do to you?"

Numeria bent down and grabbed Cam's chin, forcing her to look up. "They made me better. They _built_ me. I was weak too, once." Numeria let go of Cam, and Cam averted her gaze, tears still falling. "If I'm so important, tell me who I was to you."

Cam wouldn't say anything.

"Girl, tell me what I was."

"You were my girlfriend!" Cam stood quickly, the most determined she'd been since Numeria was in the room. "Your name was Katherine Marsh and I fucking loved you." Cam was trying to look strong, but her voice was shaky and she looked worse than she did eight seconds ago.

"Come up to the bars," Numeria commanded.

Cam took a shaky step and Numeria stood facing her. Numeria stuck her hand in between the bars and grabbed Cam's shirt, and then she pulled Cam in for a peck on the lips. Then she let Cam go aggressively, sending her back three steps.

"You… you don't even kiss the same. You're not her. You can't be her. _What did they do to you!"_ Cam fell to her knees again, this time with no intention to get up.

Numeria yawned. "Sorry for your loss." She walked out, and then Cam realized that nothing was the same. Katherine really was dead, and Cam didn't think she could ever come back.

* * *

 **2.2**

* * *

James, Svetlana, and Lyon were all walking through the slave cells. "They're underwhelming, frankly," Svetlana told Lyon. "Malnourished."

Lyon gave her an unhelpful shrug. "You want to see Cam, right? She's not 'malnourished.'"

James nodded.

They walked into the room on the end, with only the only cell being Cam's. Cam was sitting down, her eyes looking away from the door.

James cocked his head, remembering what Lyon said to Numeria earlier. "Cam," he said to her. "You don't know me, but let me tell you – you think you know Numeria? Well to be honest, you're a little underwhelming compared to what I've seen of her."

Cam shot to her feet and ran up to the bars, throwing her fist in between them and at James. He caught her hand in both of his.

"Don't be so aggressive towards a buyer," Lyon said, and then he mumbled about having to teach her a lesson.

James winked at Cam and then let go of her hand. "I like the spunk. Let's go, Bishop…"

They all left and Cam fell back down. She opened her palm, which now had a key inside of it. James must have put it there, but she had no idea why a random slaver would do that.

James said, "I want her. But I want a few more slaves. Bishop and I are going to stay the night at a hotel and think it over."

"No problem," said Lyon. "Think it over. We'll give you your gear on your way out."

When Lyon was out of earshot, Svet whispered, "Why did you give her that?"

James whispered back, "That girl is a fighter. She's going to start a riot. I can tell."

3.1

Elizabeth was sitting by a fire with Little Wolf and Harold. Harold was sleeping, maybe, curled up against Elizabeth's leg.

She was whispering to Little Wolf, trying not to wake her new child up. "So, where are you from?"

"A settlement in New Montana," she explained.

"Is Little Wolf really your name?" Elizabeth asked eventually. The fire was crackling, but the night was turning to dawn.

"Cheyenne Little Wolf is my full name, but I greatly prefer Little Wolf for a sentimental reason. Who was your uncle?"

"I didn't – oh, yeah, Harold. He raised me for most of my adult life," she explained. Harold shuffled awake and tried to lick the fire, but Elizabeth held him back. "Bad Harold."

"Spray him with water," Little Wolf told her.

Elizabeth pulled her canteen out of her bag and opened it. She poured a little bit on Harold's head, and he shook it off like a dog and sat back down. "We're going to Vault, eh, 102," she explained eventually. "You can never get enough lithium."

"Never," agreed Little Wolf, unsurely. "Let's go." She and Elizabeth got to their feet, and Harold trotted behind them like a puppy.

The vault was only a half-mile walk away, and Elizabeth knocked on the door. "Hello?" she called.

The vault clicked open and two shorter men in vault security uniforms popped out. "Halt!" one said in a rather high voice.

"Uh, hey, do you have lithium?" Little Wolf asked.

A boy in a suit walked in between the security guards. He was no older than seventeen, with acne and wispy blond hair. "I am Overseer Sean," he announced. "And I only opened the gates because I wanted to ask you about the deathclaw."

"Right, yeah, he's like my son," Elizabeth said. "Baby Harold." She gave Harold a pat. "He hatched yesterday."

Sean crossed his arms. "Well, you can all come in, but if you cause any trouble we'll kill you!"

Elizabeth raised her hands in mock surrender. "Noted."

"If you can find lithium, you can have it… for a price…" Sean thought about this. "You can have it if you can go to the hospital and fix my brother."

Elizabeth and Little Wolf exchanged unsure glances. "Alright," said Elizabeth. They all walked in, and the doors shut behind them. "Everyone here is… young."

"Yes, the Bigs have to leave," said Sean. "I'll be a Big in a year and a half," he explained. "On your 19th birthday, you go. You two are Bigs, right?"

"Yes," replied Little Wolf. "Not Harold, though."

Harold was getting stares, but he didn't seem to care. Harold licked the wall. "No, no Harold," Elizabeth pulled him away, so Harold licked her instead. "No, Harold!" She poured water on his forehead.

Sean giggled. "Do you want a spray bottle?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth.

Sean ran into a room and got Elizabeth a spray bottle. She filled it with water from her canteen and thanked Sean.

Elizabeth watched a 15-year-old girl and a 14-year-old boy walk by, both in lab coats. They both stared at Harold, who indifferently sniffed at the ground.

"Where do the Bigs go?" Little Wolf asked.

"I dunno," replied Sean. "I don't think they go to the same place," he admitted.

"Take me to your brother," she said.

They travelled down a few halls, and Elizabeth ended up in a medical room with a 12-year-old blond boy lying down, and two 16 year olds in lab coats. The girl was a little on the heavier side, and the boy was as thin as a twig.

"What happened to him?" Elizabeth asked.

"He got stung," replied Sean. "By a radscorpion."

"Okay, let me take a look." Elizabeth slipped out of her jacket so she was only wearing her grey, long-sleeved shirt, and she felt the boy's forehead. "Do you have any radaway?"

"No," replied the skinny boy.

Elizabeth mumbled something and pulled out her own. She slipped the IV into the boy, and then placed the radaway next to him. "He should be fine now. Let's see the lithium."

There was an unopened crate of the stuff in the vault's basement. "We don't really know what to do with lithium," said Sean.

"I do," replied Elizabeth.

She and Little Wolf grabbed the lithium and got on their way.

* * *

 **4.1**

* * *

Martin woke up to his vision blocked by golden locks of hair. He pushed some out of his face, and then realized that there was no way that hair was his. He looked to see Candice curled up against him, basically using him as a human pillow.

 _Oh no, I'm dead! Does this count as creepy?_ He wondered. Then he wondered if he'd ever get to wake up with a woman as beautiful as Candice ever again. He shook it from his thoughts as quickly as they'd come, and then thought about the blonde meta-human castrating him without painkillers. _Kinky_ , he joked to himself, but the thought of how mad she would be dampened his more lewd thoughts.

He gently tried to get out of her grip, but she mumbled and wouldn't let go.

He pressed his lips together and slowly slid one of her arms off of his chest. He was starting to look less like a pillow and more like a man with all of the working out he'd been doing. Martin looked down at Candice, blushing at the thought of anything romantic happening between them.

He looked at the ceiling and wondered what the kids in the Vault would think of him now. They probably wouldn't care.

"Candy, wake up," he whispered. "It's morning."

Her blue eyes opened, groggy and unsure. "Didn't I tell you not to do anything creepy?" she asked him.

"I didn't!" Martin announced defensively. "You're the one using _me_ as a pillow!"

She noticed that he was right, and she pulled herself away from him. "I was just exhausted, Martin," she explained. "After those weeks of working out with you."

Martin gave an apologetic smile, but he couldn't keep his eyes on her face. No, his eyes kept travelling down to the tight blue boy-shorts she was wearing.

"Okay, let's go see what kinds of food this place serves," Candice announced. She bent down to pick up a jacket, and then looked back at Martin. "Are you staring at my ass?"

Martin, startled, averted his eyes and started to pretend to look at the items on the nightstand. "Absolutely not!" he blurted.

"Hm," replied Candice. She sauntered away, hips swaying side to side as she went to go change into her clothes.

"I'll never understand women," said Martin. He got out of bed to throw on his armor and clothes, and they both went down to the dining hall for breakfast.

* * *

 **5.1**

* * *

When Vic woke up fog was rolling low, and his head was throbbing. He could barely remember what happened the night before. All he knew was that Valerie wasn't sleeping beside him, and he tried to remember where she was, and who took her.

He remembered the man who killed his NCR patrol unit as the man in the red hood, but he didn't remember much else about him, but when the man in the red hood showed up again, kicked Vic down, and kidnapped Valerie, Vic remembered.

The hooded man said, "There's nothing here for you now, soldier," and knocked Vic out.

Now, some hours later, Vic was lying in the fog, staring at the night sky. The Legion had Valerie.

"Go back to the Mojave," said the man in the red hood. "My name is Nero, and if we met again, I will kill you."

Now, Vic's bleached hair was stained red at the roots with his own blood form when Nero hit him. He remembered Nero's hood, and the golden chest plate that went with it – the golden chest plate that stopped Vic's bullets when he shot at Nero.

Vic forced himself to stand. The blood on his head was thick and clotting, and he knew he had no time to lose before the Legion ruined Valerie. Then again, maybe she could handle herself.

Maybe.

Vic, with shaky hands, wiped dirt from his face. He needed someone to help him get her back, because he sure couldn't do it alone.

He needed the Railroad, even though he declined their help the last time they offered.

* * *

 **Question of the Chapter!**

 **Which lesser-used OCs (or random characters I've created) would you like to see more of?**


	20. Chapter 19

**So, just a heads up – the Brotherhood and Legion won't in this chapter, which is going to be a little more centered on the 'wanderers' and some of the Railroad.**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

Elizabeth never quite considered herself an outdoorsman, especially since she spent the first 16 years of her life inside of a high-tech underground series of arguably evil labs, so she was definitely happy to get back to the Railroad HQ.

She and Little Wolf parted before they neared the HQ, giving Elizabeth time to make sure the other woman didn't find out the location.

Even though she didn't have Little Wolf anymore, Elizabeth still had Harold, who trotted along behind her as if he were a dog. He hatched a day and a half ago, but Elizabeth could have sworn he was four inches smaller then.

She slipped into the old church, and she and Harold found the doorway to the basement. "Everyone, don't freak out, but I brought someone here." She walked into the main room of the HQ, which was clean, but makeshift. It was filled with chairs stolen from different apartment complexes, a few terminals, and one couch with a coffee table. Deacon was standing, leaning on a table and sipping Nuka Cola with a straw.

"Holy moly, pal, that's sure someone!" he exclaimed. He put down his Nuka Cola and jogged over to Harold. "It's young. A hatchling?"

"His name is Harold, and he thinks I'm his mother," she explained quickly. "I can't really leave him alone, since he's kind of small for a Deathclaw, apparently."

"Cute," Deacon said. Deacon knelt down and made eye contact with Harold, whose eyes were clear and filled with some sort of wonder. "Hey Harold, what do you eat?"

Harold sat down smack in the middle of the room.

"I'll… get him some meat," Deacon offered.

David walked in then, and almost tripped when he saw Harold. "Get back, I got this!" He slipped his silenced pistol from the back of his pants and aimed it at Harold.

"Wait, David, this is Harold!" Elizabeth stepped in front of the baby. "He thinks I'm his mother and he's very small."

"Something wild always happens with you," David sighed. He lowered his gun, but didn't put it away. "That thing –"

"Harold," Deacon corrected, walking out of an adjoining room with a raw steak on a plate. He slid it in front of Harold, who popped up and started to eat.

He got a bit on the floor and Elizabeth sprayed him with water. "Stay clean!" she announced.

Harold cautiously licked the floor to clean it.

"Thanks, Harold," said Deacon. "But I don't know if we can keep him here."

"Harold has nowhere else to go," replied Elizabeth. "If I can – I don't know – potty train him, can we keep him?"

Deacon sighed. "We can have a two week trial period for Harold hanging around, how about?"

Elizabeth gave two thumbs up, and when Harold saw this, he tried to mimic the thumbs up with his hands.

"Smart one," Deacon commented. "If I didn't know better I'd say Harold here was one of the Enclave's old egg experiments."

"And if you did know better?" Elizabeth asked.

"Then I'd say he's just a good boy," Deacon replied. "Besides, Legion soldiers blew up all of the Enclave's DNA splicing experiments."

"Not to be insensitive, but the last thing we need here is an Enclave deathclaw experiment," David explained.

"Or we could consider a deathclaw experiment to be beneficial to us. We could be like Hannibal with his elephants," Deacon offered.

"What's an elephant? And who is Hannibal?" David asked.

"Like a big lizard," replied Deacon. "And a guy who took the big lizards into battle because nobody else had ever seen them before, so it was really intimidating…. These lizards."

"Weren't they mammals?" Elizabeth said.

"Who, Hannibal?" Deacon asked.

"No, the big lizards," she replied.

"You mean the elephants?" David piped up.

"Sorry, what's the point of this conversation?" asked Deacon.

"We're keeping Harold!" Elizabeth announced. "For a two week trial period."

"Alright," sighed Deacon.

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

David was very, very wary of Harold. The two were sitting across from each other, and David was trying to 'train' Harold by whacking him with a stick. David made a move to whack Harold, who curled down and blocked it with his horn.

"Good," said David. He pulled a dog biscuit from his pant pocket. "Do you want this?"

David nearly flinched when Harold licked it from his hand. "Can you understand me?" he asked, but Harold stared blankly. "No, you're one day old."

"Ah," Harold croaked.

"Enclave experiment?" David asked. He tried to whack Harold again, but the Deathclaw caught the stick in his mouth. "Elephant…"

Harold stuck his tongue out, expecting another dog biscuit. David fished a half of one out of his pocket and placed it in front of Harold.

"I'm your babysitter," David told Harold. He was sitting cross-legged in a bathroom, trying to train Harold to fight an armed opponent. "You need to learn to cover your stomach." David gently pushed the stick against Harold's soft belly. "Do you understand?"

There was silence.

David ran a hand through his hair. "Do you want to take a break? Man, I hate deathclaws." Harold licked David's entire face, which David did not expect, nor appreciate. "Harold, please!"

Elizabeth walked into the bathroom. "Boys," she said to them. She sat down next to David and let Harold crawl into her lap. "He's getting big," she commented.

"You can ride him like a brahmin," said David.

"Or an elephant," she replied.

"Deacon said a lot about the Enclave and their experiments," said David. "They were working on deathclaws?"

"Hey, at the Institute we were more 'gorilla' people," Elizabeth explained. "The first time I saw a deathclaw I was 10."

"What happened?"

"It was big and it was albino," Elizabeth told him. "It was already dead by the time they got it into the Institute, but…" she thought for a second. "Well, they have great lymphatic systems."

David laughed a little. "I don't know much about that."

"They don't really get ill." She patted Harold's head.

"I wish I didn't get ill," David replied.

"According to Deacon, the Legion is our first priority," Elizabeth changed the subject.

"Not the Brotherhood?"

"The Legion's established," Elizabeth explained. "The Brotherhood is new in town – they haven't had enough time to mess anything up."

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

"Come on Martin, you can do it!" Candice cheered. "Another 10 and you're done for now."

Martin was now able to do twenty push-ups without getting tired, but at 30, his arms felt like spaghetti, and he didn't think he'd make it to 40 pushups. Sweat dripped off of his brows onto the ground, and he felt like he was about to pass out and die. "I'm going to pass out and die," he said.

Candice gave a laugh and said, "Okay Martin, you can stop." She patted his sweater shoulder. "Take a rest and we can spar."

Martin dug through his bag for a Nuka Cola, but Candice flicked his head. "Fine, fine, a reward, not every day, I remember." He was about to take a sip of water, but he saw a man with fantastic bleached hair staggering around with blood on his face. "Whoa, you okay?" he called.

The man looked at Candice for a second, tried to say something, and promptly collapsed.

Candice was on her feet before Vic hit the ground, and caught him right before his head touched the concrete. "Mister, can you hear me?" she asked.

Vic groaned.

"What's your name?" Martin kneeled by Vic. "Can you tell me?"

"Vic…" Vic sputtered.

"Candy, can you grab a… a stimpak?" Martin asked. Candice nodded and slipped the needle into Vic's next. As the stimpak kicked in, Vic started to become a little more alert.

"Were you attacked by raiders?" Martin asked.

"No," said Vic. His eyes were glossy and trying to focus on Martin's face. "Legion… We have to find Valerie!" he panted, coughing up a little bit of blood.

Candice stuck a stimpak into Vic's chest, hoping the blood came from his lungs and not his stomach, but she wasn't sure. "We need to get him to a doctor, or someone who knows what they're doing."

"Clear the way for me," Candice said. "I'll carry him."

Martin drew his Damascus steel sword, which was no longer too heavy for him to swing properly.

* * *

 **2.2**

* * *

The hotel's doctor had a bandage around Vic's head, with some more around other parts of his body.

"The doctor says he'll be alright." Candice was sitting by him, resting a hand on his arm, which Martin hated.

"But he mentioned the legion. Aren't they more 'Mojave'?"

"I think the NCR pushed them back, so they decided to come to New York for some easier pickings," she explained.

"Hm," mumbled Martin. "Who do you think Valerie is? A girlfriend? A kid?"

"We can worry about that later," Candice replied.

Then, Vic shot up. "Valerie!" he announced. "Fuck, ow, that hurts…" He touched his side and looked at his hand, pleased to not find any blood.

"Take it easy," said Martin.

"Why are you literally dressed like a comic book character?" Vic asked, blunt and direct.

"You almost died and my fashion sense is your biggest concern?" Martin raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. Who are you two?" Vic asked them.

"Martin." Martin pointed at himself. "Candice." He pointed at Candice.

"Vic." Vic pointed at himself. Then he remembered. "Oh, I have to go!" He tried to stand up, but felt blood rush to his head and everything started to become fuzzy and white.

"Slow down there, Vic." Candice put a little bit of pressure on Vic's arm, making him take a break and sit back down. "Who is Valerie?"

"She's a kid. She's only 13." Vic touched his head wound with the arm Candice wasn't touching. "Ouch. The Legion has her."

"Yeah, Legion," Martin agreed. "What are they doing here?" He wanted to sound tough, but his voice was a little uncertain as he watched Candice touch Vic's arm. It was probably nothing, but it still drove Martin up a wall.

"You've seen the city," Vic said. "It's not what it used to be. Until the Brotherhood got here a little while ago, the only real player in this game was the Railroad."

"Right… Brotherhood…" Martin mumbled.

"Are you with them?" asked Vic. "The 'technology belongs in the right hands' mentality I like, but the anti-ghoul mentality I don't. No offense to either of you."

"Even if I wanted to be Brotherhood, I figure they wouldn't be into the idea of inviting me into their ranks," Candice replied.

"Why, what's wrong with you?"

"Too good for them." Candice winked, completely dodging his question. "That's not what we're talking about, though. We need to worry about how we're going to get your friend back."

"What, you two against the Legion?" Vic raised an eyebrow, but put it back down when it started to hurt his head.

"You'd be surprised to see what Candy can do," Martin proudly announced.

"I think I can take a good guess – she looks tough as nails," Vic said. "My best bet has always been the Railroad. They asked me to join them once, but I said no." He shook his head in embarrassment.

"We can still find them again," Candice replied. "Do you know where they are?"

Vic gave a swift nod.

"Then we'll get you Valerie back," Candice promised.

"Are we in this together then, Candice and Martin?" Vic asked.

"I guess so," Candice told him.

* * *

 **2.3**

* * *

Vic was finally in the proper condition to start walking. With newly cleaned hair and a trimmed beard, he had an unrivaled determination to get his friend back.

Martin and Candice were ready to help a man in need.

"So…" Martin was fiddling with his sword, and Vic was walking a few steps up ahead of the two, out of earshot.

"Yes, Martin?" Candice asked.

"When you were touching Vic's arm…" Martin looked away, already embarrassed about his question. "What did that mean?"

"Martin, are you referring to when I checked his pulse?" Candice crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"No!" Martin defensively exclaimed. "… Maybe. But it lingered!"

He was so loud, Vic turned around to look at both of them. "You two okay back there?" he asked.

"Yes, why don't you come back here and talk to us?" Candice offered. Martin didn't know what she was doing, or if she liked Vic or not.

"We're getting close," said Vic.

"Boys, I need to find a restroom, I'm going to stop at this bar. Don't get into too much trouble," said Candice. "Do either of you want a drink to go when I pop in?"

"Nuka Cola," said Martin.

"That's an odd way to ask for purified water," Candice informed him.

"I'll take a beer," Vic requested.

Once Candice disappeared into the dim, soggy bar, Martin turned to Vic. "Do you like her?" he asked.

"Who? Her?" Vic gestured to the bar.

"Yes, her! She touched your arm earlier and she invited you back to talk to us!" Martin was about to turn beet red.

"Hey, _mijo,_ you know what she's doing right?" Vic asked casually.

"No?"

"She's trying to make you jealous. It's a girl thing. I'll never understand them, but that's the game we've got to play. It's just easier to play when you have nice hair and don't wear armor." Vic noticed Candice come out and he took a beer from her.

"If it isn't Vic Santo!" a friendly male voice exclaimed. A clean, dark haired man wearing sunglasses and jeans waved. "You look like you've taken enough beatings to beat you back into wanting to join us. Am I right?"

All three of them turned to look at the newcomer.

"I don't know if I'm _obsessed_ with your friends, but I did miss you. Where's your kid? We have another kid now... sort of. His name's Harold, and he's lovely."

"The Legion kidnapped her," Vic admitted bluntly. "I'll join you – I'll do whatever you want – but you need to help me get her back first."

"We _would_ love you on our side," Deacon agreed. "I don't know about Grognak and Ann Darrow over there, though." He took Vic's beer from his hand and had a pensive sip.

"We'll help get the girl back and then we'll go," Martin suggested quickly. "We just want to help."

Deacon seemed pleased by this, so he said, "You can't come to the HQ, but you can grab a hotel nearby and we'll keep you posted."

"Done," said Martin.

* * *

 **3.1**

* * *

Quasar finally made it to Southampton. He kicked stones on an empty road, thinking about Grissom. Everything Grissom did to him made him the man he was, but for some reason he couldn't face his past when had the chance. It made him feel helpless and confused, and he had to admit he wasn't a fan of what had happened.

He walked until he saw a dirty lake with a couple of Mirelurks soaking by the shore. He pulled his shishkebab out and sprinted towards them, leaving a trail of flames as he swung. He hit their soft spots, tearing off their shells and thrusting them back into the water. After he took the three out, he harvested one of their eggs and slipped it into his backpack for later. He turned to go find a place to grab a drink, when he bumped smack into a scraggy merchant.

"Well hello there!" the merchant announced. "See anything you like? Or, want a look?"

"Alright," said Quasar.

"It's old electronics from all of my hunts," said the merchant. He explained the contents of his backpack to Quasar.

"Let me see the ballistic weave and the solar panel," he requested. Elizabeth had been a huge fan of solar panels, always saying that the Institute never relied on them enough.

Quasar examined both of them and gave the ballistic weave back. "How much for the panel?" It was a 4x4 inch array with a couple wires attached.

"600."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Quasar demanded.

"It's a rarity, sir!" the merchant announced.

"Fine, let me see the vintage bottle caps." He purposefully dropped a couple of caps onto the ground. "Whoops." He bent to pick them up and just as the merchant looked away for a second, Quasar pulled the solar panel out of the merchant's bag and put it under his poncho. "Actually, I'm good."

"You'll never find anything like my stuff," the merchant informed him. "See you."

Quasar waited a couple minutes before he was sure the merchant didn't know his solar panel was stolen. He plopped himself down away from the road and used his shishkebab to light a fire. He took the small metal pan he carried with him and started to cook up his egg with a little bit of sea salt and mutfruit on the side.

"That smells _insane_!" a female voice exclaimed. "I always burn my Mirelurk eggs," she told a guy much, much taller than her.

Quasar looked at the pair. They were a tall guy he could have seen anywhere before and a shorter, interesting looking girl with dark skin and a lithe build. Her hair was messy, and her eyes were catlike and alert. Her face was a little forgettable, but scar that ran from her forehead, through her right eye, and all the way under her shirt, was intriguing.

"I'm not very hungry, you could have some," Quasar said.

"I could?" she asked. "You're my hero! I'm Kiran." She plopped down next to him and took a fork from his hand.

"Half," said Quasar.

Jonathan sat down too, trying not to make eye contact with Quasar. "He's not… good at meeting new people," Kiran apologized.

Quasar thought about this and then laughed out loud. "Aren't we all supposed to get over that by the time we're 13? I mean, when you're 12, you can be like, 'yeah, this is Katie, she doesn't like new people', but at, what, twenty-five, shouldn't you be over that?"

Kiran laughed a little too at the imagery of Jonathan being a 12-year-old girl named Katie, but Jonathan turned a little bit red.

"I didn't get out as a kid!" he tried to defend himself.

"No one could hear him from up there." Kiran raised a hand above her head to indicate how tall Jonathan was.

"Question," said Quasar. He put a hand in front of Kiran to stop her from eating the entire egg. "I've passed by a lot of guys dressed like NCR rangers – are you guys settling here in the Liberty Wastes?"

"One more bite!" Kiran argued.

"No," Jonathan answered. "The NCR and Legion both crumbled a little bit, so a lot of rangers disbanded. Also, I was never NCR, I was a desert ranger."

"Tato tah-to." Quasar shrugged.

"Do you give everyone shit?" Jonathan asked Quasar.

"Abso-fucking-luetly," Quasar told him. "You know you're going to get crucified if you're dressed like an NCR lackey here, though?"

"Desert Ranger," Jonathan corrected.

"Won't feel much different when you're nailed to a cross by the Legion," Quasar told him bluntly.

"Well, speaking of the Legion, I lost a friend," Kiran piped up.

"Sorry to hear that," Quasar replied.

"No, she's not dead! They just have her! We're trying to go get her back," Kiran explained quickly. "If you're… not busy, you could help. Mr. Egg…"

"Actually, my name's Quasar, but I like the sound of Mr. Egg," he laughed. "Yeah, I'll see what I can do for you."


	21. Camisha's Rebellion

**Hey! So, I'm just going to get this chapter started without a really long author's note! At the end of the chapter, I'm going to throw a tiny 'contest' into the 'question of the chapter' and the winner will have at least 2,000 words of chapter 21 centered on their character's journey + past!**

 **Also, I'm really happy with the positive reception given to 'Harold' the Deathclaw (my baby!)**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

Cam's knuckles were white as her fist clenched around the key James gave her. Bags were forming under her eyes, and she couldn't stop thinking about Katherine. No, legate Numeria. She held her fist to her forehead and tried to stop thinking about her ex.

It was the dead of night, and the small barred window outside of her cell let in only moonlight, illuminating the soft, crumbling ground. She finally stood after hours of moping, her eyes bloodshot and stinging. The guard was fast asleep and sitting in a chair outside of her cell's room.

With a shaky hand, she slipped James' key into the lock and fumbled with it until the lock clicked open. She didn't know if it was a master key or if it only opened her cell, but she stepped out into the hallway, which was lined by cells filled with defeated looking men and women.

"Shh," said Cam when a man in a cell saw her. She crept up to the guard in the chair and slipped the machete from his belt. He stirred, and Cam plunged the sword into his chest. She winced as she killed him. Every day she grew less and less innocent, and she knew it too.

She pulled the keyring off of the dead man and started to match the numbers on the keys to the cell numbers. "We outnumber the Legionnaires," Cam told the slaves, who were lining up in front of her, waiting for orders. "So, if we can't escape, we can make a dent in their ranks!" Her speech was short and a little bit uninspiring, but she finished with, "Escape or die trying!" and this was enough to invigorate the slaves.

Every single released slave started to flood out of the slaves' quarters, picking up every working slave along the way.

The stronger slaves started to kill recruits with their bare hands and passing the weapons onto the weaker slaves, and Cam was running about with her machete, slicing down recruits and sleeping legionaries.

Meanwhile, Lyon was with James and Svetlana, who had all been trying to enjoy some coffee over the discussion of the slave trade. "Stay here you two, I'm sorry for the inconvenience! Stick around and whatever slaves are left are going to be half priced for today." Lyon stood and gave them directions to a safehouse.

"Actually Lyon, I don't think so." James stood up. "We can handle ourselves."

"Mister Morgan, I'm going to have to insist–"

Svetlana stood too and made a move to grab Lyon's neck. Lyon ducked out of the way and whipped out his blade. "We were as nice as possible to you two, but I'm afraid that was unacceptable!" He made three jabs at Svet, and only one even touched her, but her strikes didn't land on Lyon any easy than his did on her.

"I thought it would be easier to kill a lackey like you," Svet commented.

James fired his .45 into Lyon's back, and Lyon stumbled forward into Svet. Then she snapped his neck.

"Killing is easy if they're not looking at your gun," James offered her. "Let's get to his safehouse – Lyon said Numeria would be there for twenty five minutes before she started to take down slaves."

James and Svet ran into the street, watching spears and arrows whiz past them and strike down slaves, who seemed to be equally adept at throwing arrows and using the weapons of fallen legates and legionaries. A young woman with olive skin nearly slammed into James.

"You!" she cried. "You gave me the key!" She was holding a machete, and blood was splattered across her sweater.

"I don't know what you're talking about," James lied. With immense force, he shoved Camisha away from him. She fell back into the path of an arrow, which lodged itself into her arm.

Out of the kindness of his heart, James grabbed the end of the arrow and broke off the back. "Good luck," he said, right before he bolted off with Svetlana.

Cam almost fell to her knees, but she knew she had to keep moving. She stumbled across the battlefield, and fell into the arms of a larger slave who carried her back to cover.

James and Svet made it to the supposed location of the safe house, where they saw a man in a flowing crimson red hood and scuffed up golden combat armor slice through two slaves with spears as if they were butter.

The man used a sword that shined blood red, and a hilt that was jet black, along with a bow and a few arrows on his back. He pulled off his hood and turned to Svetlana and James.

"Move," James demanded, drawing his katana.

Svet raised her fists as well.

The man had green eyes and tidy black hair. His cheekbones were high, his skin was clear and pale, and in a raw, sad way, he was beautiful. He flipped his sword expertly, little blood droplets spraying onto the ground as he did so. "Where is Lyon?"

"Dead," replied James. "Now move."

The man closed his eyes and shook his head. "You're posing as slavers to take a bounty. Am I wrong?"

"Congratulations, you can die right." James pulled out his .45 and aimed it at the new man's head.

"A man with a gun," the guy sighed. He slipped the bow and an arrow from his back and fired at James before James could fire at him.

The arrow hit James' hand and the gun flew out of his grip. "Wha–? The Legion never used arrows!"

"Someone taught them," replied the man. He only had two arrows left, and he used them both on James, who was hit in the shin by one, but dodged the other. He pulled it out of his leg and then his flesh began to heal itself.

Svetlana charged at the man, who sidestepped all of her blows. "Some people believe they're entitled to things that they are not," said the man. "You are not entitled to this bounty, Miss Bishop." He sliced her side and pushed her away.

He slipped over to James next, quietly, as if he were only a shadow, and slit James' throat before James could finish digging the arrow from his leg.

"Nero," the man said. "Remember my name in hell." He slipped off somewhere else, leaving James' body to repair itself, and Svet to fumble to get a stimpak into her side.

James woke up in two hours in a rowboat. He was staring at the sun and Svetlana was looking off into the distance, frowning.

"We never even got to Numeria," said James.

Svetlana said nothing.

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

Meanwhile, Camisha was out of the Legion's camp. She was sitting a mile away alone, watching with hatred at the Legion started to sling up crucified slaves outside of their walls. The man who saved her got shot, but her sweater was torn and her arm still hurt like hell.

She escaped, but she lost Katherine. She also lost a little piece of herself, her soul feeling heavier and heavier as she watched the legionaries display the defeated slaves one by one.

Just as she was about to look into her lap and sob, she heard a strangely familiar voice call, "Cam, is that you! You look terrible! Did you find your girlfriend?"

Cam wanted to reply to Kiran, but all she could do was pass out.

When Cam woke up, Jonathan, Quasar, and Kiran patiently listened to her struggle to tell her story. Kiran even shed a tear as the story progressed, and Jonathan angrily shook his head.

"So, the slaves lost?" asked Jonathan.

"I mean, theoretically they had to. We were famished and weaponless." Cam explained. "Do you have any water?"

Kiran offered up her canteen, and Camisha chugged all of it. "Sorry," she whispered as she handed it back.

"It's no problem," said Kiran. "Want food?"

They grilled up some pork n' beans and Quasar sprinkled some salt on it so it wouldn't taste so bland.

"I'm sorry about Katherine," said Kiran. "I don't know what it's like to lose someone like that, but I'm sorry anyway."

"It hurt," Cam admitted. "It hurt a lot, but I have to be okay. I have to get stronger…"

"Do you want to get strong enough to fight Numeria?" asked Jonathan.

"I have to," Cam said firmly. "First I just… I want to shower and sleep and eat." She put another bite of pork n' beans into her mouth.

"We could all get a hotel," Quasar suggested.

The other three agreed.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

Ben hadn't seen Logan in a week, so Logan requested that he talk to Benjamin before he go down to the ground for the first time since the Brotherhood's arrival.

"Will you be okay?" Benjamin asked. His hair was in buzz cut, and he looked the healthiest he had since Logan found him.

"I will be okay," Logan replied. "Just some slavers who have never seen Power Armor in their lives."

Benjamin was sipping some Nuka Cola, and Logan was having a glass of water. "Will you be careful anyway?"

"Yes Ben, I'll be careful," he replied. "I'm always careful."

"Even though they're only slavers?"

"Yes. How's your training been?"

Benjamin finished his soda. "Good! Star Paladin Harris teaches me how to fight and Scribe Wolf teaches me how to read! Do you want to see me read?"

"How about when I come back?" Logan offered. "I'll grab a pre-war book on the ground and let you read it to me."

There was a knock on the door. Star Paladin Harris popped in and said, "Logan, hello."

Logan nodded.

"I've gotten word of a robobrain running about New Brooklyn," Harris explained. "Been causing a lot of trouble for the locals."

"What about the slavers?" Logan asked him.

"Well, I figure we don't need too big of a unit to take down the slavers, so I'm going to send a few men and two squires to find the robobrain," Harris explained.

"Squires?" Logan demanded.

"Squires!" Ben exclaimed.

"Yes. I was thinking I would go disable the robobrain – Major Wolfe, I believe he calls himself – with a knight, a paladin, and squires Monica and Benjamin," said Harris.

"Is Benjamin ready?" Logan asked.

"Yes!" said Benjamin. "I'm ready."

"Don't worry Logan, Benjamin won't be put in harm's way. It's an easy mission, and it's good training," Harris explained. "Benjamin has seen the most real action out of all the squires – it will be good for him to tag along."

Benjamin was grinning ear to ear, and Logan couldn't help but smile too.

* * *

 **So, I have a little contest. Basically, PM the description of a vault to me – [vault number, the original vault experiment, what the vault's like now, who the overseer is, and describe one resident of the vault] and the winner's vault will be used, and their submitted character will be focused on next chapter.**

 **Good luck !**


	22. Vault 002

**What's up everyone! So, I ended up with two winners of the contest, one for best characters, and one for best vault design. The award of of Best Characters goes to AnonChan1 (Kiran, Vault 002), and the award of Best Design goes to PersoNonGrata (David, Vault 416). Only one of the Vaults is going to be in this chapter, but the other will make an appearance soon.**

 **This chapter is going to feature Vault 002 and a lot of David, while next chapter will have a healthy dose of Kiran. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

"I'm sorry about your girlfriend," said Quasar. "I really am." His feet were dangling over the edge of a dock by a lake, and although the dock didn't seem to serve much function, he didn't mind sitting by it.

Cam shook her head. "People keep telling me they're sorry about her, and I don't know what to reply. I think I'll never be the same as I used to…" her voice trailed off. She was wrapped up in Quasar's poncho, and even though she got blood all over it, he offered it up anyway and told her he didn't need it anymore.

"I was a kid once," he told her. "I know – surprising! But I was. My whole family died and I lived with this old ghoul named Grissom for years until I killed him."

"I–" Cam began, but she stopped. She knew he didn't want to hear that she was sorry.

"Have you ever seen a ghoul's dick?" Quasar asked.

Cam went silent. The only noises between the two of them were his breathing and the ripples of the lake.

"I have," he said. "And when I killed him I changed my name. I wanted people to call me something other than what he called me all those years…"

"Did things ever get better?" Cam asked.

"Sure," said Quasar. "But they were never the same. My innocence was gone, and I know yours is too."

"You don't think I have a chance?" she asked. "To brings things back to the way they were?"

"Cam, listen. A lot of things get lost out here. Once you cast something out into the wasteland it doesn't come back, and I wish somebody had told me that when I was with Grissom."

Cam looked over behind them at Jonathan and Kiran, who were giggling and playing checkers with the wrong set of rules, and leaves instead of pieces.

"Bingo!" Kiran announced.

"No!" Jonathan objected, moving some pieces around.

Cam smiled at the two, wondering what kinds of things they'd had to see in the wasteland.

"It's not that you'll never be happy again," Quasar explained. "And it's not that you'll never be with a girl again. You know, I met a girl. She's in old Manhattan right now – you two should meet. Sometimes she talks about science. You might like it."

"I might," replied Cam.

"Cam, I think we should forget Numeria for now and go back to old Manhattan," Quasar suggested. "Maybe we can take John and Kiran too, but they seem more… I don't know, put together than us, like they'll do just find on their own."

Kiran and Jonathan finished up their checkers and Kiran jogged up to Cam and Quasar. "You two okay?" she asked.

"Sure," said Cam. "Sit."

Kiran settled herself down in between the two and offered her own insight to Cam. "I'm a synth."

"A synth?" asked Cam.

"I know an Institute scientist," offered Quasar.

"And man, I've been trying so hard to be human, but sometimes I feel like I'll never be. I just… I know what it feels like not to belong," Kiran explained. "Also, who?" she addressed Quasar.

"Well, blonde, pretty, is definitely smarter than me but pretends not to be for the sake of modesty?" Quasar offered.

"You're not talking about Elizabeth Lowell are you?" Kiran demanded.

"The one and only!" Quasar announced, surprised at their mutual acquaintance. "I think she's the last Institute scientist left."

"I… I think so too," Kiran sighed. "I ran into her once, and she could have disabled me, but she didn't."

"If you stick with me you can see her again and say hey again if you want, assuming she's still, well, alive. But I think she is," he offered.

Jonathan just finished packing everything up, and he walked over to the dock. "Hey guys, are you all ready?"

"You don't want to sit down?" Kiran asked.

"No," said Jonathan. "I mean yes, I just… it's getting late." He scratched his head like a tall, awkward teen. His hands moved to his side and he looked uncomfortable standing above everybody else's sitting forms.

"Sit, Johnny!" said Quasar. "Let it get late."

So, Jonathan sat.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

Elizabeth and David were near the water, sitting at a little outpost that sold drinks and knick-knacks. Harold was splashing around in a puddle, and travellers were giving him looks, but ignored him for the most part.

The bartender poured Elizabeth her sarsaparilla and whiskey, and David a cold beer. "Hear about the rebellion?" he asked.

"Is this the start of a joke?" David inquired, and Elizabeth grinned at his comment.

"No sir, a girl released all of the Legion's slaves and there was a little rebellion. It was squashed, obviously, but they did damage, and that girl escaped," he explained. "Nine caps."

David put nine of his caps on the counter in front of him. "What's her name?"

"Oh gee man, I don't know. Folks are calling her New Cilicia, though," he explained. "After those old Roman wars."

David heard about the old Roman Empire once upon a time, but he couldn't name any historical figures. Elizabeth wasn't too sure either, but she figured the name was cool. "I lean more towards science."

"They have cool names in history," David offered. "Cilician," he mumbled. "Yeah, that's cool."

Harold shook himself off like a dog and ran over to Elizabeth and David. He licked Elizabeth's foot and she tossed him a tato, which he didn't _love_ , but he accepted.

A man sat down next to Elizabeth. His dark hair was hidden under a baseball cap, his arms were obviously athletic under his t-shirt, and he was wearing ripped jeans. "Nice day for a cocktail," he commented. His voice was silky, and he sounded like he was about to recite Shakespeare softly.

Elizabeth almost knocked her drink over. "I haven't seen you in ten years, but you still have that same face," she mused.

His face was unblemished and clean. "I haven't let anyone lay a hand on me," he told her.

"You were an 18 year old with peach fuzz," she commented. "And you couldn't even grow it."

"I still can't," he admitted. His eyes were green and pensive, and his cheekbones were high. He had aged those ten years well, but he wasn't a cute teenager anymore. He looked like a beautiful disaster of a man who had some kind of horrors locked away behind his eyes.

"What have you gotten up to? Ten years ago you were a brilliant swordsman."

"Nothing of note," he said. "My story would bore you."

"Hey," said David. "Introduce me?"

"David, this is a guy who saved me from a few raiders ten years ago. His name is Nathan. So, Nathan, David. David, Nathan."

David reached over and shook Nathan's hand.

"Ten years ago you looked like a newly born baby ready to face the world. You look hardened now," said Nathan to Elizabeth. "You also didn't have that." He gestured to Harold.

"His name is Harold," David said.

"After that man?" Nathan recalled. "I'm actually looking to find New Cilician," he explained. "That girl."

"Your guess is as good as ours," said David. "She doesn't even have a real name as of now."

Nathan shook his head. "I should get going," he said. "Good to see you again. Stay safe." His footsteps were oddly quiet, and he moved more like a shadow than a man.

"He seems like an interesting guy," David commented.

"I think I know less about him than I knew before," said Elizabeth. "We should finish our drinks and head over to Vault 002."

* * *

 **2.2**

* * *

They stopped back at the Railroad HQ and made a restless Vic come with them. He wasn't as banged up from Nero as he was before, and after news of the slave rebellion, he was incredibly eager to run to Southampton and find Valerie, but Deacon wouldn't let him until he could run to Vault 002 with Liz and David and grab Vault 002's cloth prototype.

"So, what does this vault have?" Vic asked. The Railroad threw him into an inconspicuous red baseball jacket with grey sleeves and jeans. He wore a white t-shirt too, all lined with ballistic fiber. He liked it a little, but it made him feel naked and with no armor.

"Think oobleck," said Elizabeth.

"I'm thinking oobleck, but I don't know what that means," Vic replied.

"Cornstarch in water. If you pour it, it's a liquid, but if you hit it, it's a solid. We call it a non-Newtonian fluid."

"That makes a little more sense, but we're looking for fabric," Vic said.

"Ok, you have a non-Newtonian liquid that's solid when you hit it, so if you have a non Newtonian fabric, what is it when you hit it?" Elizabeth asked.

"… Solid?" Vic concluded. "Hey, that's cool! That's good. Science is nice."

David and Vic made a little small talk about the NCR, but neither of them seemed to want to share. "I was taken down by a guy named Nero," said Vic. "He was ruthless. He was… I don't know… hard to read. These green eyes and… I don't know…"

"Sounds like your friend," said David to Elizabeth. "Nathan."

"Nathan looks like a piece of silk with daddy issues," she informed both of them.

Vic and Elizabeth started to describe Nero and Nathan respectively, and it didn't take long for them to realize. "You _know_ Nero!" Vic cried. "We can use this – you can get into the legion's encampment and get Valerie!"

"Vic, we're not even sure if they're the same person. Liz's Nathan is a good guy from what we've heard. Nero, well, isn't," David offered. "Besides, we're here." They made Harold wait outside, since they weren't sure if the dwellers inside would love a Deathclaw.

Most vault doors opened easily with the click of the Railroad Vault Key, as did this one. They funneled inside of the vault and knocked on the inside door. After a moment, there was a brief alarm, and a young black woman opened the door. She had expressive, coffee brown eyes and curly afro-style hair.

"Hey, we don't get so many newcomers." She was around six feet tall with an oval shaped face, thin lips, and a broad, flat nose. "What are you looking for?"

"Do you know where you'd have any sort of armor or prototypes here?" Elizabeth asked. "Or blueprints?"

"I'd say tech labs, but I don't have clearance. You'd have to talk to… Darrel the overseer." She looked a little away from Elizabeth when she said his name. "I'm Lisa Yale."

Elizabeth gave two thumbs up. "Take us to the overseer?"

Lisa led them to the door and then ran off.

David gave the overseer's door a knock, and an average white man with artificially tanned skin and thinning blonde hair opened the door. He looked David up and down. "Newcomer, hm? You look like a fine soldier." He gave David's hand a firm shake. He looked at Elizabeth. "Your girl is fine as well – how is her cooking?"

"I, uh, don't –" David began.

"And what about that tamale over there?" he gestured Vic. "Slave?"

"Hey _chico,_ don't be such a–" Elizabeth stopped Vic before he could spit an insult at the overseer.

"Hey, tamale and I are going to go cook… over in the kitchen, right?" She looked at Vic with a very determined _I want those blueprints_ look, and he nodded.

"Right then, let the men do the talking," agreed the overseer. Elizabeth pushed Vic and then turned to exit. Right when she turned around, the overseer hit her ass. She jumped a little and then gave both of her companions a quick headshake before she dragged Vic out.

Lisa was waiting for them. "I knew he wouldn't want to see you two," she told them. "He's…"

"A dick?" Vic asked.

"A dick," Lisa confirmed. "Darrel will never let you three get anything from this vault you know?"

"You said you didn't have clearance to get down to the labs?" asked Elizabeth.

"No," said Lisa.

"Good thing I'm all the clearance we'll need," Elizabeth commented. "Lead the way and I can get us in."

"I mean I'd sure let you in if I could, but the terminals definitely won't see what you look like," Lisa informed her.

"I know my way around a computer," Elizabeth replied. "Don't worry."

"We should probably… get going before the overseer tries to sell you into sex slavery," Lisa suggested, and the two started to follow her down a staircase. Just as they got to the staircase, Darrel threw David out of his office.

"You three think you can waltz in here and steal our vault supplies?" he demanded. "No, obviously I want something from you if I'm going to give _anything_ up," he snapped. Vault security, two white men, ran out into the hall. "Drag the taco and the whore into the jail, I'm letting the solider go. Lisa, come here."

"I –" Lisa objected, but a vault security member grabbed her arm and started to pull her towards Darrel's office.

"David, get Harold!" Elizabeth told him, right before the rest of vault security started to shove Elizabeth and Vic towards a stairwell.

David bolted towards the exit, whizzing past Darrel and Lisa and out of the vault as fast as he could.

David lost Cam. David lost Sarah. He didn't want to lose Elizabeth now, or even Vic. He stumbled onto the concrete and cried, "Harold!"

The Deathclaw, around 2 feet tall now, ran over to David. "I don't know if you can understand me. I just don't know. But Elizabeth and Vic are in there and there's another girl who's trying to help us and you're a scary motherfucker," he huffed.

He was tired and in a hurry, but he could have sworn Harold nodded.

"Harold," David said, and Harold made a little noise. "When I was 16 I joined the NCR. I made ranger by 21, and I led one of the best assault squads in the NCR." He pulled out his silenced 10mm pistol and cocked it. "They used to say that a deathclaw was worth seventeen men. Let's go."

* * *

 _David knew all about running into battle. He'd been doing it since he was 16, and he was too good at it for his own good. His assault carbine was fully loaded, and his squad was positioned, ready to flank out the legion troops running their way._

* * *

David and Harold slipped into the vault together. They crept as far as they could before a security guard noticed them, and David shot the guard. The gun made little more than a click, and David dragged the guard into a sideroom and switched into the guard's clothes. He threw his own clothes onto a dresser.

* * *

 _"Okay everyone, weapons going hot," David commanded. "On my count. 3, 2 -" There was a gunshot. It came from David's side of the battlefield, from above all of them. He expected that his sniper couldn't hear his commands, so he turned back towards the legion soldiers, but none of them were knocked down._

 _Instead, the NCR soldier beside him had been shot in the head._

 _"Simmons, what are you doing!" David cried._

 _"Veni, vidi, vici," his sniper called_ _from his_ _perch_.

* * *

David got a nod from a man passing by who looked at Harold, mildly frightened. "Experiment," David lied, and the guy nodded.

The man looked at David and said, "The overseer needs to start euthanizing those savages, don't you think?" He mumbled something to himself and used a pre-war slur to refer to a black man in a lab coat.

"I, I don't…" David looked at Harold, who didn't understand

* * *

 _His own sniper was slaughtering his men. David tried to shoot up at the sniper, but legion soldiers began to throw spears into the squad, and David couldn't get a shot in. He and the surviving four men ran. They ran until they couldn't anymore, but by the time David got to safety, the four men weren't behind him anymore. He was alone._

* * *

David passed by the overseer's office, wincing at the pained grunts coming from inside. It was Lisa, he knew, but he couldn't decipher what was happening in there. He heard Harold make a low growl. "Harold, we can come back for her," David whispered.

They slipped inside of the empty room adjacent to the overseer's office together and David clicked on a terminal. The room was mostly empty, but a white guy with gray hair was sitting against a wall, listening to Lisa's cries through the wall.

"You new?" the guy asked, and David jumped a little.

"Yes," David lied.

"Are we training deathclaws now? No one tells me shit. Sit down, son. I have two beers." David apprehensively sat. "Most guards vacate this room when Darrel does his thing, but I like how it sounds. You look queasy. I guess you don't."

David shook his head.

"You're a proper kid, aren't you? One of those pussies who wants them to want it. Let me tell you something, kid. This vault was founded on the survival of the fittest. Darwinism, kid. As men, Vault Tec knew we were the best, and that's why we have to humiliate anyone below standard," the guy explained. "We're alive in this vault because we are the best. Genetically, kid."

"We? As in us two?" David asked.

"No, son, as white men. Only the smartest and the fittest get the jobs we have. Only people like us get to have more than one kid."

"Right…" said David.

"What I'm getting at is basically this – if Vault Tec says we're the fucking best, we can take what we want. From women, especially."

"Like, sex?" David asked.

"Yeah kid, sex. Take it from them. They owe it to us."

"They don't owe us anything," David snapped. "Not sex, not love, nothing. Has a woman _ever_ loved you?"

"You sound like a faggot."

"I had a wife," David said. "And she was better than you, better than anyone I'd ever met. Do you know how she died?"

The guy shuffled uncomfortably.

"A Nightkin. A Nightkin in her garden. Telling me that you can rape whoever you want is disrespectful any woman who's ever had to look at your ugly face. Harold, go."

Harold hopped on the guy, and there wasn't even a struggle before Harold dove his claw into the guy's carotid artery. Blood spurt out so hard it hit the wall across from them, and the man was dead nearly instantly.

David took his sleeve and wiped some blood from Harold's face. He noticed that the noise from the overseer's office was gone now.

David crept out of that room with Harold and they saw Lisa limping out of the room with her head down. "L… Lisa," David called.

Lisa looked up at David with watery eyes. Then she looked down at Harold.

"Where are my friends?" he asked.

Lisa walked over to David and quietly knelt next to Harold.

"I'm sorry," said David.

"He does it to everyone," she replied. She touched Harold's cheek and Harold started to nuzzle against her hand. She laughed a little bit, and then Harold licked her face. "I didn't know you had this!" she exclaimed.

"He's Elizabeth's. We call him Harold. Here." David handed her his trench knife. He cocked his pistol again. "Take me to them."

They ran down corridors rather swiftly, staying out of trouble. David and Lisa got to the jail and opened the door, walking in to find two passed out security guards and Elizabeth and Vic playing rock paper scissors.

"What happened?" David asked.

"One of the guys tried to touch me with his penis, and I don't mean sex, I mean he literally just tried to touch my arm with it," Elizabeth explained. "Harold!" the deathclaw ran up to her and she gave him a pat on the head. "Good boy. Do you want to leave or find those prototypes?"

"Prototypes," said David.

The three and Harold started to follow Lisa down to the lowest floor, taking out anyone who tried to object.

"What's this vault's story?" Elizabeth asked Lisa.

"Well, Vault Tec executed anyone who didn't meet a certain physical and intellectual standard," explained Lisa. "Vault Tec won't execute anyone anymore, but Darrel likes to humiliate minorities."

They ran into the lowest room where David and Vic started to have a firefight with the two security officers.

"When I was 16 Darrel publically humiliated and executed my brother," said Lisa once the gunfire stopped.

Elizabeth grabbed the terminal and started to work at it. "Why?" she asked.

"They didn't like his ethnicity."

"Is that grounds for execution here?" David asked.

"Yes," replied Lisa. "They tend not to like black men in this vault. They make Darrel feel… well, one girl told Darrel that his dick wasn't as big as any black man's, and he's been a little angry since then."

"Got it." The door opened and Elizabeth ran inside. "Keep watch." She ran into one of the labs and incapacitated the guy working there with her glove.

"Who elected that dickhole?" Vic asked.

"No one. It's hereditary," Lisa explained.

Just as Elizabeth was gathering the last of the tech, four vault security officers and Darrel flooded into the lab. "Lisa, I have had enough of your antics," he told her.

"Okay Tiny Dick Darrel," Vic mumbled.

"Security, bring me that girl." One of the security guards grabbed Elizabeth, who gave a secret thumbs up to her friends. Darrel put a hand on one of her shoulders and looked her over slowly. "Have you ever been fucked by a real man?" he asked.

"The only fucking you I'll be doing is fucking you over," Elizabeth shot back. She snapped, made a fist, and punched Darrel with an electrically charged blow to the nose. Gunfire erupted and she dove out of the way.

Lisa got a punch in against one of the security guards, and then several alarms went off.

"We have to go – now!" David announced.

They ran as fast as they could, with Harold deterring most of the security officers. They managed to run straight out of the vault right before the doors closed on them, and David put his hands on his knees, huffing.

"Nice uniform," said Vic.

David looked down at his clothes. "Fuck, my coat!"

"Guys," said Lisa.

"What?" said Elizabeth.

"That was so fucking cool!"

* * *

 **Hey, I was going to have some Brotherhood right here, but this chapter is almost 4,000 words, and I should get studying. Enjoy!**


	23. Ground Control To Major Wolfe

**1.1**

* * *

After a little bit of convincing, Harris eventually let Logan come on the mission with Benjamin. Logan looked like a true soldier in his new set of T-60 Mark II power armor, and Benjamin adored it.

Harris looked radiant as well, his crooked nose and scars barely noticeable in his black T-60F armor with blue accents. "Okay squire, you and Paladin Logan will come with me and track down Major Wolfe. The other men and squires will track down raiders."

"Yes sir!" Ben announced.

"Ad Victoriam, Paladin," Harris said to Logan, who nodded. "You'll make Star Paladin yet, I tell you."

"This old dog's still knows how to learn some tricks," Logan offered. "First thing I'll do when we get back is shave off this beard."

"Logan, you promised that the first thing you'd do would be buy me a new gun!" Benjamin objected, and Harris laughed.

"Okay, you got me. Gun and then beard. Can we board the vertibird now, sir?" he was looking at Ben, but he was asking Harris, who said yes.

They all boarded the bird and a pilot lifted the plane into the air. "I tell you, Logan, it never gets any less incredible," Harris mused. "The views from up here."

"I like the buildings. Logan told me he'd take me to the Statue of Liberty towns one day," said Ben.

"I will," agreed Logan.

The bird flew for half an hour, and then let the three guys off on top of a short building. "I'll wait here unless I see something I don't like," the pilot said.

Harris and Logan got out first, scanning the area. Benjamin followed. "To our eleven, I see assaultrons," said Harris.

"How many do you count?" asked Logan.

"Two. They don't see us, but they know the vertibird landed," Harris replied. "Benjamin, stay on the roof and watch us. Logan, drop down with me."

The two effortlessly dropped to the ground, letting their power armor soften the blow for them. "He has red on his armor!" one of the assaultrons cried.

"Commie!" the other agreed, and they began to heat up their eyes to fire a beam at the paladins.

Logan pulled his automatic AER9 laser rifle, and Harris began to fire with his tri-beam automatic laser rifle. The assaultrons were struck with a barrage of lasers, and the paladins didn't ceasefire until the assaultrons exploded.

"Jump down, Ben, I'll catch you," Logan shouted up at Ben. Ben hesitated, but he jumped down from the building and Logan caught him in his arms.

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

"Well, soldiers," Major Wolfe said to three protectrons. "We're still looking for the last of the commies. Remember, you see red, you shoot," he explained. "Red equals commies, boys." He was a robobrain with a camo paintjob and a classic army helmet on his head. "You boys are smart," he told them. "Smart boys."

"I am in construction mode," said a protectron.

"That's the spirit!" cried Wolfe. "We're going to construct the greatest army known to America."

"Okay," the construction worker protectron agreed. "I am in construction mode."

"We'll build a nation!" Wolfe announced.

"I can only build infrastructure," said the protectron.

"Well, we all have to start somewhere," replied Wolfe. "Our scouts haven't come back. Do you think it's the Japs? Hitler? Guatemala?!"

"Guatemala is my ex-wife's name," a different protectron said. "I am in comedy mode," he clarified.

"Nothin' funny about _my_ ex wife," Wolfe informed the three. "Now let's get out there and see if those boys are coming back. Grab the sentry bots."

* * *

 **1.3**

* * *

"I thought this was one robobrain," said Logan as he and Harris stepped over the bodies of two protectrons. "I don't know if this is safe for Benjamin."

"It's ok!" Benjamin promised. "I even shot one of them myself. Do you remember?"

"I do," said Logan. "They say his base is this pier, don't they?"

"Yes, once we enter this building, we should expect to find the robobrain," agreed Harris.

"Hey!" a robotic voice announced. "Who you callin' robobrain, robobrain?"

Logan twirled around to face Wolfe and six sentry bots. "We have to abort," he said quickly. "Benjamin is in danger – get behind me Benjamin!"

Wolfe fired a little missile out of one of his arms, and it exploded against Logan's chest.

Harris tried to shoot the security bots, but he wasn't making a dent. "We need birds to bomb this place, we can't do it alone!"

The three dove under cover, around the corners of one of the nearly buildings.

"My torso is damaged," said Logan.

"Will you make it?" asked Harris.

"Yes, we have to–"

"Peek-a-boo." It was one of the security bots, and it began to fire rapidly at Logan. Harris grabbed Benjamin up in his arms and sprinted towards another building.

"No – stop – Logan – wait!" Ben screamed, but Harris kept running. He placed Ben behind another building.

"Don't move, squire." Logan was digging his ripper into the security bot, and with Harris' help and firepower, the two eventually got one of the bots to explode.

"Logan, tell me your status," Harris requested.

"Power armor torso and left arm broken," Logan said. "I can't move my left leg. I think the joint is jammed."

Harris tossed one of the signal grenades for vertibirds onto the ground. "Don't worry," he said, but Logan was visibly worried.

Benjamin ran out into the open to call, "Logan!"

"Ben, no!" Logan pushed through the pain of moving his stiff joints and dove in front of Ben, right before a missile struck his back.

His armor exploded in a display of fireworks and metal and blood, and Logan hit the ground, no longer moving. "Ben, go," he wheezed. "I'll be behind you.  
"Liar!" Ben started to cry. "You're lying! You can't move!"

And then Logan felt himself start to cry too. "Go, kid. I promise I'll be right behind you to buy you that gun."

"Get up, dad!" Benjamin pleaded, and Logan looked up at the now-blurry little boy who just called him dad.

"I'm coming," he whispered.

Harris bolted over to them and picked Benjamin up, again against the kid's will. "We have to go, squire!"

The missiles and vertibird gunfire that followed was magnificent, in a sense. It destroyed everything it hit, from the bots to Logan's dying body, but for some reason the vertibird pilots couldn't locate the robobrain, only the sentry bots.

Benjamin cried onto Harris' power armor, and for once, the Star Paladin couldn't do a thing.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

Vic was sitting in the Railroad HQ's bar, which had Nuka Cola bottle cap stools and a clean wooden counter, serviced by a young guy dressed like a mailman. His hands were clasped together, resting on the counter, and he was taking an occasional sip of his Pulse Grenade, which was essentially just a lot of different hard liquor thrown over sugar and ice.

Martin was sitting with him – after a long argument with Deacon and David, they eventually let him and Candice crash in the HQ – trying to drink some protein shake Candice made for him.

"What's in there?" Vic asked.

"Leaves, probably," replied Martin.

Vic laughed and shook his head. "Do you think Valerie is okay?"

Martin hesitated to say yes. "I think she has a good chance, but I don't know, Vic," he admitted, swirling his drink around with a spoon.

"Things were so lonely before Valerie, man," said Vic. "I was a soldier without a squad. I know we've all had our hard times, but Valerie was the first… the first thing I cared about after my squad died."

"I get it," said Martin, but he didn't _really_ get it. "How old did you say she was? And I'm guessing she was, like, hot?"

Vic almost knocked his drink down turning to Martin. "Thirteen, and she's like my daughter."

"Oh, gee, sorry, I didn't know that," Martin mumbled.

"And stop saying 'was,'" Vic added. "She's still alive."

"Right," said Martin. "I overheard Deacon say some of us could go soon," he offered. "Me, you, Candice, and David."

"That's it?" asked Vic. "Shouldn't we be raising hell against the Legion?

"Boys!" announced Deacon, who just walked into the room. "The Brotherhood is going to have that covered for us. We're going as a courtesy to you, Vic my man." He gave Vic a friendly slap on the back and Vic choked a little on his drink.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth, Lisa, and Candice were in the lounging room playing Blackjack. "We played this all the time in Vault 2," Lisa told the two.

"I have only played this at casinos," said Candice. "But I'm sure I'll win."

Harold was sleeping on Elizabeth's lap, and she threw in a load of caps onto the table in front of them. "I bet 72," she said.

Candice matched the bet, but Lisa didn't want to. She drew cards and gave one to Elizabeth and one to Candice.

Candice grinned and flipped cards over. "20," she said.

Elizabeth did the same. "Fucking Blackjack!"

"From growing up in the vault, I thought people had to choose between being smart or being hot," Lisa said. "Guess I was wrong."

"Are you counting cards?" Candice demanded.

"That's how you're supposed to play!" Elizabeth argued. "At the Institute, if you couldn't count the cards, you were basically a walking joke."

"No, play without counting the cards," Candice said.

"I can't just unseethe numbers, Candice," Elizabeth replied. Harold stirred in her lap and woke up. He leaned over, put his tongue on the discard pile, and casually ate three cards. Elizabeth redistributed the caps she'd won, though, giving Candice hers and Lisa hers.

Deacon popped into the room with the three of them. "Hey ladies," he greeted. "Candy, we're gonna need you. You, Martin, David, and Vic are off to save Vic's kid sister or… something."

Candice stood up and gathered up her caps. Elizabeth threw a single cap at Candice and said, "For good luck."

"What will you do while we're all gone?" asked Candice.

"Build some things. Maybe I'll teach Harold how to fire a gun," she joked. Harold seemed to be teething on the remaining cards. "I'll try to find the woman who gave me Harold's egg."

Lisa was sitting cross-legged, rubbing her thumbs together. For someone who didn't spend much time outside of her vault, everything was new to her. "Can I come?" she asked.

Elizabeth nodded a couple of times. "I don't see why not."

* * *

 **This one was very short, I know, I just wanted to set the stage for greater things.**

 **The basic plot now is: Vic, David, Martin, and Candice find Valerie. Elizabeth and Lisa teach Harold, find Little Wolf, and encounter a new faction. Ben mourns the death of Logan and grows.**

 **If your OC isn't mentioned up there, PM me ideas for where you want to see your OC head next.**


	24. A Pirate's Life For Me

**So, the end of this chapter is going to be a tiny bit of the Kiran prize for winning! Let's delve into some backstory.**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

Svetlana and James' boat was drifting gently in the water. It was a small boat, no more than a sailboat, and it wasn't getting anywhere very quickly.

Svetlana saw a light in the distance and shook James awake. He pushed himself into a sitting position and looked into the distance. "Is that a boat?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied. "James, play dead, maybe they'll pull us aboard."

He leaned back down and Svetlana moved to lay down with him. As the boat approached, a gruff man shouted, "Boat ahoy!"

The large boat pulled up against the little one, and a woman on a rope slid down into Svetlana and James' boat. She snooped around a little bit and made a move to pick up James' sword.

He immediately broke the façade of sleeping and grabbed his sword before she could. He dove it into her chest and kicked her into the water. He then started to climb the rope up onto the boat.

Two men smoking cigarettes tossed them into the water and pulled out laser muskets.

"Colonial," James commented. He dove out of the way of one of the blasts and fired his .45 into one of them. Svetlana made it up to the deck as well and used her own firearm to take out the other. "Those are some nice muskets," James said.

"For what appears to be pirates, yes," replied Svetlana.

"What, you're not a fan of their laser muskets?" James asked, getting ready to slice open some more pirates.

"Those may as well be the real muskets from the Revolutionary War," Svetlana explained. "And they're totally unmodified," she added.

"Okay Svet." James rolled his eyes and flipped his katana in his hands. He flew forward, sprinting straight into another pirate and throwing him overboard.

"I've been due to kick some ass," Svetlana said. "I'm out of practice."

James shook his head. "That wannabe Roman would have no chance in hell of touching you if you were at your peak," he told her.

"I know," she replied.

They took down a few more pirates, and James ran into the captain's quarters. "Cool hat," said James, referencing the captain's floppy black hat. "Am I going to grab it off of your dead body, or are you going to give it to me so I don't get blood on my new hat?"

The captain said nothing, but charged at James with a sword. The two danced with their blades for no longer than a minute before Svetlana walked in and put a bullet into the pirate's head.

Blood splattered all over James and onto the floor. James quickly scooped up the hat before it touched the bloody floor, and then he and Svetlana dragged the body and tossed it overboard.

"Not bad work we just did," James announced.

"We should have been able to take out those pirates faster," she snapped back, and he shrugged.

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

The ship docked hazardly against a couple of rocks, and Svetlana and James were greeted by the smell of death. There was a man hanging from a noose, relatively fresh, and _NO PIRATES_ painted in black on the ground.

Svetlana, completely unaware of the smell, walked up to the man hanging and looked him over. She touched his overcoat and noted, "Ballistic fiber."

"Rare," replied James.

She started to unbutton the man's overcoat, which was worn and dark red with a light, colonial design. "I know an old remedy to get the smell of death out of fabric," she told James.

"I believe you," he replied, and he watched her strip the dead man down.

* * *

 **1.3**

* * *

As James and Svet entered a bar, he noted that she smelled like lavender in her new overcoat despite it just being taken from a dead guy.

They were going to grab a table and contemplate the Legion, whom the pirates hated just as much as they did. They chatted for a little bit about Block Island's weather, and then a scrawny pirate in a floppy hat like James' came up to them. "You two aren't James Morgan and Svetlana Bishop are you?"

James touched his gun. "How do you know that?"

"Oh, well the Legion has been putting your posters up all over Long Island. You're wanted!"

James groaned and downed his drink in one powerful swig. "Great," he mumbled.

On the other side of the bar, a very large man sitting with three pirates nodded up. He scanned the bar and looked at Svetlana. "Svetlana Bishop?"

He stood up, a hulking 6' 6" in hooded, spiked armor. He noticed the scrawny pirate he had seen before, a man with a floppy hat and sleepy eyes, and... a woman. Black hair, amber eyes, and a trademark tall physique.

A throng of pirates noticed his movement and immediately quieted down, parting for him like the Red Sea. The tall man slowly walked through them, creaking floorboards with his left leg, which had long ago been replaced by a gen 1 synth leg. His gaze during his walk never left Svetlana.

James and Svet watched the scrawny pirate slip away, and James looked up at the big man and said, "Can I… help you?"

The man's deep voice reverberated inside of his helmet. "Are you… what is your name?" he asked Svetlana.

Svetlana was not intimidated by his armor, and he seemed to be nervous too, yet half of the bar shut up when he walked by. "My name is Bishop. Svetlana. And I'll have you know this is a bad way to start a conversation, especially when your bounty is more amused by you than anything else."

He only stared at her, unaffected by her petty jabs. He looked like he was about to grab onto something that wasn't there. "How did you survive Adams?" he asked slowly.

Svetlana shot up, pulling James' .45 out of his holster and shoving it into the man's face. "Who the fuck are you?" she seethed.

He sighed and dropped his head forward, pressing his forehead against the barrel of the gun. He started to unbuckle his armor, pulling back layers until he showed her a tattoo of the letter E with stars around it.

Svetlana noted that she had the exact same tattoo in the same place, but only said, "that doesn't answer my question."

He slowly peeled off his helmet. Auburn hair and an auburn beard spilled out, and his face was pale with laugh lines. He had a scar running across his mouth, leaving a gap that partially exposed some of his yellow teeth.

Svetlana only looked at his eyes, though. His sad, amber eyes. "No," she said. "You're not…"

He looked like he was about to cry, but he only said, "Otto Bishop."

James, who was awkwardly fiddling with his katana, mumbled, "You know each other?"

Simultaneously, the two said, "I thought you were dead," to each other.

"Where have you been, dad?" Svetlana had to get the last word in, even if Otto Bishop was her father.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

Lisa and Elizabeth were sitting outside with Harold sniffing around finding wild fruit to lick. Elizabeth was drinking a cocktail, and Lisa was trying to do a shot of vodka for the first time. "We didn't get this in the vault," she explained.

Elizabeth was wearing sunglasses and no jacket, since the weather was getting a little bit warmer, and Lisa was still in her vault suit, but she took a leather jacket from Deacon's humungous leather jacket closet.

"Do you care if I go look for a restaurant?" Lisa asked. "I'll be able to find my way back." She tapped her Pip-Boy.

"Yeah, no, go ahead," Elizabeth offered. Lisa left her vodka and where she was sitting and jogged off in some other direction. Elizabeth leaned back and looked at the dying trees and sidewalk in front of her, trying to enjoy the view.

"Hey." A guy plopped himself down next to her. She looked a bit startled at how quietly he crept up next to her, but when she recognized his face she was put at ease.

"Nathan?"  
"Yes," he replied. His hair was a tad bit longer than the last time she saw him, but other than that he looked the exact same.

"Still looking for New Cilicia?" Elizabeth asked.

"She eludes me," he replied.

"Nathan, can I ask you something?"

"If I say no will you ask it anyway?" he replied.

"Are you with the Legion?"

He took a long pause, drawing in air and shutting his eyes. "Would that make you hate me?"

"No, but it would make me ask you why," Elizabeth replied.

He sighed. "Elizabeth, if you fought me right now you'd last half a second. You couldn't fire a pistol straight then, and you probably can't now."

"Is that a yes?" she asked.

"No. I don't believe in the Legion's cause," he told her.

She seemed confident in his answer, but she noticed that he never addressed his affiliation with them.

"Can I offer you something?" he asked her.

"Is it a sexual favor?" Elizabeth replied.

"Let me teach you how to use a bow and arrow," he said. "How to fight."

"I don't need to learn how to fight, Nate, I can shoot."

"Fucking barely, Liz," he informed her. "You have the coordination for it. You can apply physics to it. You might even like it."

She shook her head. "I don't need that, Nathan."

"Vault 002," he said. "You want to go back there and teach Darrel a lesson? You're going to do that with me," he offered. "If you decide you hate shooting a bow and arrow, I can just do you sexual favors instead."

"Oh boy, thanks Nate," she groaned. "Are we starting now?"

"I guess so."

* * *

 **3.1**

* * *

A guy called Robert Lowell had headed the robots branch of the Institute for just over two decades. One of the first things he did as the head of the robotics division was create K9-18. She was the only project he ever soloed, and the only synth he ever personally gave free will to.

He called it a bug. He called it a malfunction and a glitch, but he knew that he put it into the code himself. Kiran Misra's free will was more of an Easter egg in Robert's code than anything else.

Before men like Robert, synths didn't really have any autonomy. In fact, with K9-18 tried to tell the other synths that they were slaves, the other Gen 3 Synthetic humans beat her. It was a miracle she escaped.

Kiran didn't know half of this, though, so she only told Cam what she knew. "I gained a sense of self awareness somehow, and then I escaped," is what she said.

"Honestly," said Cam. "I can't imagine."

"I want the Railroad to disable the synth part of my brain that's still susceptible to recall codes," she explained. "I just hate not feeling human."

"You're pretty human to me," Cam told her. There was a pause, and then she added, "To all of us."

Quasar jogged over to them. "Hey ladies! Sorry to interrupt on this fine day, but we have to get going. We have a freedom trail to follow!"

* * *

 **Hey, so for next chapter, there's actually going to be a time skip of a few months, six at most, just to get the ball rolling once again.**

 **Enjoy!**


	25. 6 Months Later

**1.1**

* * *

"Hit the sarsaparilla bottle," Nathan told Elizabeth, who was wearing boots, beige pants with a bunch of pockets, and a white tank top. She pulled back the string of her bow and let the arrow fly through the air, slam into the bottle, and shatter it into several medium sized pieces. The soda fizzed and got everywhere.

"You didn't think to empty out the bottle first?" Elizabeth asked him. He shrugged. They each had a bow. Nathan's was a traditional bow, more Spartan than lavish, and Elizabeth's was a more technical model with a stabilizer, a laser pointer, and a system of pulleys that made it easier to draw the arrows back.

Nathan shrugged. He was wearing khaki shorts and a red t-shirt, and he had trimmed black stubble on his face, which was tanner than it was six months ago. "Do you and Harold want to come collect that bounty I found last week?"

"Yeah. Are you done looking for New Cilicia?" Elizabeth asked him. "You were adamant about it half a year ago."

"I was," he agreed. "But not so much right now. Go back to the HQ and grab Harold and your gear. Bring the prototype plasma arrows too."

"Sure. Stay here." Elizabeth ran back to the Railroad HQ at a leisurely pace. It had moved to a new location many months ago, and that location was the now-vacant Vault 002. The Railroad gave the folks in the vault an ultimatum – leave or fight, and a lot of them left, even Darrel. Some of the oppressed vault dwellers stayed behind to join the Railroad, but most of the vault's leaders and security weren't welcomed by the Railroad. Deacon let Lisa have the final call when it came to new members.

Elizabeth slipped into her room, which used to be Darrel's. It was one of the larger ones, rigged with a chem lab and a workbench. Darrel had a polished metal desk painted to look like mahogany, and attached to the end of his desk were two leather straps.

Elizabeth could only assume that the straps were originally used to restrain women that Darrel fucked over the desk sideways, but after a blacklight scan and a deep clean of the room, she decided to leave them there because she thought they were kind of funny. She used them to keep rolled up schematics and papers in place.

Lisa knocked on Elizabeth's door while opening it.

"You'd might as well not knock," Elizabeth told her. She dug into her dresser and pulled out a t-shirt with a black and white doodle of Picasso's Don Quixote sketch.

Lisa was wearing a black leather jacket, a red flannel shirt, a black tank, and tanned cargo pants. "Yes, but you love seeing me. What are you up to?"

"I'm going out with Nathan," she replied. "Why? What's up?"

"Are you and Nathan banging?" asked Lisa.

"Nope."

"And you're still straight?"

"Lisa, you know if I weren't you'd be the first one I'd tell." Elizabeth dug around for her jacket too, which was a grey and soft zipper hoodie.

"Come back in time for dinner." Lisa left Elizabeth's room so she could change into her shirt and jacket, made from the technology she stole from Vault 002 six months ago. It was essentially ballistic fiber but lighter and less penetrable.

Elizabeth opened the door to the room next to hers. "Big guy, you want to kick some ass?" she asked Harold.

Harold popped out of the room. He wasn't full sized yet, but he was five feet tall standing on his hind legs, and he looked like one scary son of a bitch. He gave a little grunt and started to follow Elizabeth down the hall. Lisa gave his head a pat as the two walked out.

She met up with Nathan down the road and handed him three prototype plasma arrows.

"Raider boss called Jackie," said Nathan. "Think we can handle that?"

"I'd say so," she told Nathan.

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

Jackie was twisting a butterfly knife in his hands and flipping it over his fingers. He was nonchalant and bored, waiting for one of his subordinates to come and tell him something fun.

He yawned. He almost wished he would hear gunfire soon, just so he had someone to kill. A big guy with a baseball bat ran into his office. "There's a man, a woman, and a deathclaw in the compound!" he told Jackie.

Jackie pulled out his revolver and ran into the hallway, his actions reminiscent of all of the other attacks he'd had on his compound. "Where are they? I want to skin that deathclaw and wear its head as a hat!"

He and the big man ran down the hallway. Jackie ran up to find a man in a red t-shirt firing arrows into his subordinates. Jackie aimed his revolver at the guy, but not before a mid sized deathclaw leapt in front of the way, absorbing the bullets with the hide on his back.

"Get over there!" Jackie told the big man.

The big guy started to charge hesitantly with his bat, and Jackie fired more at the deathclaw. A third person, a woman in a sweater, ran out behind Jackie, and he spun around and aimed at her.

She was holding a bow with a green-tipped arrow pulled back. A red dot was pointing at his chest. He fired his gun just as she released her arrow, and the bullet hit her chest, and the arrow hit his.

The bullet fell harmlessly off of Elizabeth, but the plasma arrow burned through the ballistic weave of Jackie's suit. Jackie stumbled back, firing twice more before collapsing onto the ground.

Soon, the commotion died down.

"You sure know where the right arteries are," Nathan said casually. "You and Harold always get them right where they bleed."

Elizabeth took Jackie's revolver off of the ground. "I still can't quite aim right."

"No, but you're a fast learner. I'm telling you – bows over guns every time. We're like a pre-war comic duo."

"Thanks, Nate."

"Let's go back," he suggested, and she agreed.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

Martin had really grown into himself in the last six months. His armor fit completely, and he could lift his sword with one hand now. He had stubble, something that he could never really grow before he lost weight, since stubble used to be too patchy on his double chins. His stubble was blond and even, and his hair was shaved slightly on the sides and combed up on the top of his head.

He was drinking purified water, and he and Candice were talking and walking towards a small market square.

It was a gated former basketball court with traders and caravan guards. He and Candice were browsing the goods.

"Hey," an armor trader called to Martin. "Nice armor. Where from?"

"A Hubris Comics store," replied Martin.

"Fancy!" the trader commented. "Fancy sword too," he added. "How much?"

"They're not for sale," Martin replied. He took a little step back.

"Well." The trader smiled genuinely. "Come back if you're ever interested."

"Martin, you could have gotten a load of caps for your armor," she informed him.

"Yeah, but I found it! Fair and square, Candy."

Candice bought ammo for her laser rifle, a 10mm pistol, and a combat armor chest piece to go over her vault suit. "How do I look?" she asked Martin.

"Good," he replied.

They paid for the items quickly, and then went over to the food stand. There was a woman in a dark coat and sunglasses sitting drinking vodka like water. "Come here you two." Her voice was flat and emotionless. "Have you seen this woman?" She held up a photo of a woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, and smooth, model-like features. She looked like somebody had sculpted her themselves, choosing the prettiest features they could think of.

"Why are you looking for her?" Candice asked skeptically. She saw herself in the woman in the photo – blonde, blue-eyed, and gorgeous.

"She is a wanted criminal in the Commonwealth," the lady explained. "I would pay you handsomely for her return."

"How much?" asked Martin.

"100 now, 500 when she's returned," the woman told them.

"Seems easy," Martin told Candice. "Are you down?"

"Yes," she replied. "But tell me your name first," she said to the stranger.

"Xandra," she informed her. "But you may call me Madame X until the completion of your task."

"We'll look for your criminal," said Candice.

Madame X nodded and handed them the woman's picture, as well as a bag of 100 caps. "She's most likely using a fake name."

"Okay," said Candice.

"Now what?" asked Martin.

"Now we look for that criminal!" Candice announced.

* * *

 **2.2**

* * *

Music pulsed and lights flashed as Martin and Candice entered the house of ill repute. Martin thanked god that his helmet covered his face, since he was redder than after a workout. He was also thankful that his armor hid his crotch too. The beautiful women in various states of undress performing their 'acts' were making it hard for Martin to concentrate.

Candice, though, was completely focused on the task at hand. She almost seemed annoyed by the dancers twisting their bodies to entice the men in the joint.

Candice dragged a blushing Martin to the bar. "Sir, we have some questions," she said to the bartender.

He looked them up and down and said, "What brings a blonde bird and a Grognak wannabe here today?"

"We're looking for someone," Candice told him.

"Hey, aren't we all?" he asked. "If it's the manager, he's in his office. He's, eh, interviewing new employees… if you will." He grinned.

"We're not here for your manager," said Candice. "We're looking for a woman."

"Couple of swingers, eh?" asked the bartender. "Alright, tell me which girl you want and I'll… arrange it for you." He seemed eager at the thought of making some extra money.

"We're looking for this woman." Candice handed the bartender the picture.

Without seeming suspicious at all of the fact that the two had a photo, the bartender said, "The new girl, huh? Yeah, sure." He walked over to the stage and said to the woman on stage, "hey new girl, get the fuck down here!"

The woman in the picture got down from the stage in a white lace bra and panties. "What's up?" she asked in an unidentifiable accent. It could have been pre-war French or Russian, but Candice genuinely had no clue.

"This couple here wants a night with you," the bartender said. "Swingers, I'd guess."

"Yes, we're new to the scene," Candice lied. "We're hoping you can offer up your services for tonight."

"Okay, sir and ma'am." The dancer smiled. "Let's get this business out of the way, then," she suggested. She sauntered off with Martin and Candice trailing after her.

"Candice, are we really going to have a threeway?" Martin asked, somewhat hopefully.

"No Martin," she whispered. "I just want to get this girl alone."

The woman ushered them into a private room and locked the door behind them. "Help yourselves to a drink," she offered. "And you, stud, ought to get out of that armor. Payment in advance," she added quickly.

"We're not really here for that, ma'am," Candice told her.

"What?" The dancer demanded. "What are you here for, then?"

Candice pulled the photo from her pocket and showed it to the woman. "We're here to ask you some questions."

"She sent you here, didn't she?" The dancer demanded. She was backing up slowly, her eyes locked with Candice's.

"She? She who?" asked Martin.

"X6-91," responded the dancer. "She's an Institute Courser! I know you know her – she had to have sent you here." The dancer was beginning to panic, backing into a wall.

"Candice, wasn't the institute destroyed?" Martin mumbled to his companion.

"Are you a synth?" Candice ignored Martin.

"I'm not going back!" The dancer cried. "Not to that pervert! And you can't take me back!" She whipped a laser pistol out from under a pillow and aimed it at Candice. She pulled out her own 10mm pistol and aimed it back at the dancer.

"Guys!" Martin shuffled in between them. "Let's talk this out like adults! Candy – gun down."

"No," Candice responded. "Not until she puts hers down."

Martin leaned forward to take his helmet off. "Look," he said to the dancer. "We can't help you unless you talk to us." He put the helmet on the bed and looked at her. His hair was a little damp, but there was no sweat on his face. "Please. Are you a synth?"

The two women lowered their guns at the same time.

"Yes," said the dancer. "E5-72," she told him. "But I call myself Elsa."

"Okay, well I'm Martin, and this is Candy. How long ago did you escape the Institute?"

"Well, it was destroyed," said Elsa. "But a lot of the scientists and synths escaped and set up shop in Queens… And now that Courser is after me!" tears began to pool in her eyes, and she sat on the bed, trying not to sob.

"I don't understand. Why did you escape?" Martin asked.

"The man who created me… he was obsessed with this pre-war fashion model… he used me as his entertainment."

"Why didn't you go to the Railroad?" Martin demanded.

"Martin," Candice said. "You're being insensitive."

Before Martin could reply, Elsa said, "Not all synths make it there. Not all synths even know where to find it. I got away on my own and I'm hiding out in this club… I get paid, and I get to pick my clients…"

"Well, what do we do now?" asked Martin.

"We can't let her go back to that scientist," said Candice. "So we need to get rid of Madame X."

"Yes!" Elsa exclaimed. "If you can get rid of the courser, I'll… pay you!" She declared. "With money, or with my body if I have to."

Martin blushed, and, looking at Elsa's lingerie he felt his dick knock against the pants of his armor. _Whoops._

"We don't have to go that far," Candice assured her. "Just pay us in caps, and that should do."

* * *

 **3.1**

* * *

Ben was 12 years old. He turned 12 five months ago, and he spent a lot of his birthday sitting at Paladin Logan's grave. He was back there today, on the six-month anniversary of Logan's death.

Ben was holding a plastic flower he fished from a general store, wearing a new squire uniform. "Hey Logan," he said. He was taller than he used to be, and his hair was no longer buzzed. It was now black and trimmed. The Brotherhood doctor told him he would grow up to be over six feet tall, and everyone kept telling him he'd grow up to be a Star Paladin too.

No longer skinny, Benjamin was five feet two inches tall, 102 pounds, and he wished Logan were still around to see him. "I hit my first bulls-eye yesterday with a laser rifle." He placed the flower at the grave. "Squire Lawrence gave me whiskey for the first time. I know you used to want to have a beer with me when I grew up." He wiped the tears forming in his eye. "When I'm old enough to think it tastes good, I'll come here and drink one. I'll also find Major Wolfe. I miss you."

"Squire Benjamin?" A male voice asked. Benjamin turned around to see Star Paladin Harris in jeans a t-shirt. He was handsome as ever, despite his crooked nose. "Thought I'd find you here, kid."

Benjamin looked down at the grave, epitaph reading, _"The Man Who Singlehandedly Brought the Brotherhood to The Liberty Wastes. Paladin Logan."_

"He was a fine man," Harris told Benjamin. "You'll be too."

"I want to be just like he was," Ben replied.

"Few men can be," said Harris. "We've eradicated so many slavers and raiders since he brought us here." He shook his head. "Maxson wants to take out the Railroad next."

"Good," Ben replied.

Harris gave Ben a quick pat on the shoulder. "Right."

* * *

 **4.1**

* * *

Valerie was sitting in one of the main rooms of Vault 002, playing cards with David and Vic. They all banned Elizabeth from playing with them, since she only knew how to play by cheating, so she was somewhere outside of the vault with Nathan.

Vic and David were playing caravan, while Valerie was watching. "Remember the first time you met David?" Vic asked her.

She was almost fifteen now, almost finished with the awkward stages of puberty. Almost. She had pretty blond hair and a radiant smile, and she was wearing an old vault suit with the sleeves cut off.

"I remember," Valerie mumbled. She also had on a black lace choker – a "typical teen thing", according to Vic, who seemed to be a good source of information when it came to teens.

"I was covered in so much blood you thought there was a new type of ghoul," David recalled.

Vic's hair had grown out a lot, with about one inch of his roots showing under the bleached portion of his hair. "I win! Caravan!" He pointed to two of his piles and David groaned.

"Two out of three, then?" David requested.

They reshuffled and dealt again.

"I've never seen an NCR ranger like that, man," said Vic. "David took out at least six legionnaires before I even noticed we started the assault." He gave David a friendly pat. "Good man."

"Thank you, Vic," said David. "Valerie's come quite a long way too," he added. David's hair grew out again, and he was back to wearing a bandana to keep it out of his face. He also had a mildly long scruff, and he got his NCR ranger jacket back.

"Thanks. I'm right here," Valerie told him.

"It's a compliment," Vic offered. "A long way since you were a whiney thirteen year old girl with a knack for complaining."

* * *

 **So, the next chapter will probably be a birthday chapter for Ridley, Quasar and Cam's submitter, on May 14** **th** **. Unless I can squeeze in a chapter before that, at least, but I doubt it.**


	26. Home is Where the Scotch is

**Hey everyone! So, credit to symmetrymaster (Svetlana and James' submitter) who gave me the plot and a lot of the dialogue of Svet and James' section. Same for Angry Lil Elf with most of Candice and Martin's section. This chapter is pretty much entirely user-submitted!**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

 _Six Months Ago:_

Svetlana, James, and Otto sat in silence while the rest of the bar came back to life around them. Whatever Otto was doing, nobody wanted to get into it; everyone only hoped that Otto would take his drama out of the bar.

Otto was the one who broke the silence. "So, do you want to talk about this?" he asked his daughter.

"If you have a better area in mind, yes," Svetlana said back, as apathetic as ever, despite Otto being her father.

Otto looked around then mumbled, "Let's head over to my place."

All three of them got up and exited the bar, much to the relief of everyone inside. James noted that it couldn't have been any earlier than 11:30 at night. Rain was lightly drizzling down on his shoulders and his hat, and he saw lightning, counting eight seconds in between the strike and the thunder.

No one spoke for a few long minutes, and they made their way through the dirty wet streets of an unfamiliar town.

"I guess everyone knows you around here, hm?" James asked Otto.

"Aye," said Otto. "They do.  
"Is that a synth leg?"

Otto didn't stop walking, nor did he even turn his head. "You like to ask a lot of questions don't you?"

"Well, if you're not going to answer–"

"Yes, it's a synthetic leg. I lost the original around 10 years ago." He smiled at that for some reason James couldn't discern. "Fucking Courser lobbed a plasma grenade at me. It burned my leg pretty badly, but he let his guard down. I got my hands on him after that, and let me tell you… there is nothing like fighting one of those freaks hand to hand."

"So you killed a courser with your hands?" James asked.

"What? No." He gave a deep, genuine laugh. "I beat the shit out of his face before he threw me off like a rag doll. He died when I finished him off with this." Otto pulled out a sawed down lever action rifle from a very large hip holster.

"That would do it," James mumbled.

After several more minutes of walking silently, they finally arrived at Otto's home. The rain was getting heavy, so everyone was relived to get inside. Otto's home – the southeast lighthouse – was a surprisingly tidy place from the outside. There was no graffiti on the walls, nor was there garbage lying around the lighthouse. When they all came inside, though, the difference was apparent.

Otto's house was cluttered. His floors were covered in weapons, books, empty bottles, and other assorted knick-knacks. Otto flipped a light on and walked over to a Nuka-Cola fridge.

"So, what do you want to know, kids?" Otto asked.

Before James could answer again Svetlana immediately took the question. "How exactly did you end up here?"

Otto turned around from the fridge with a large bottle of alcohol. He scooped up three large glasses and filled each of them halfway. "Well Svet, you probably know the first part. You were 5 when I said goodbye. I was sent on a reconnaissance mission down by Long Island. See, we thought that there was a sunken nuclear submarine with active ICBMs out there. One of its last transmissions said it was near Southold before it went dark. So, the Enclave dispatched a vertibird with, a few heavy troopers, a scientist, and me the acting officer. Before we could land, some motherfuckers on the beach fired an RPG at us. Next thing I knew I was in the ocean."

He breathed in deeply at the mention of that then took a gulp of the alcohol. Scotch. "Maybe I should just skip to the end. I don't think you're in the mood for a long story."

"I am" James said casually sipping his Port.

"As am I," Svetlana said.

Otto smiled a bit.

"Well, I survived the fall… obviously. Not a scratch on me… that time. Anyway, I swam to shore alone. Everyone else was either killed in the blast or drowning in their power armor. The raiders saw me and took me captive." He chuckled. "I remember being a cocky little shit back then - giving them lip most of the time. I must have been – what, 25 back then? What I do remember was the raiders beating me senseless and asking me questions that I was trained not to answer. So, they threw me in a cage, tortured me a bit, and then they sold me to some other group."

"How long did that take?" James asked.

"Something like 8 years" Otto replied casually. "I wasn't any good at working, and I tried to escape often. I ended up being some kind of gladiator. I was amusing to them because I could kill so many of my fellow slaves, as well as the occasional slaver idiot who let their guard down." He took another gulp of scotch then looked at Svet. "For a while, thinking about you was the only reason I tried so hard... You were the first thing in the world I really cared about, Svetlana. Nothing has ever come close."

Svet gave him a long look then asked, "What happened next?"

"After 8 years being cut up by those bastards I remember looking out of a cell window and seeing black sails on the horizon. The pirates decided that the raiders looked like easy pickings, so they sailed in and attacked." He refilled the glass and smiled more. His face was turning red and he knew it. "It was chaos outside, and all I wanted to do was go out there and join in. Then all of a sudden I saw the jailer running down the hall. It was sign from God. He ran by and I grabbed him. I remember holding him against the bars. I could have made it quick, but I didn't feel like it. I wanted him to suffer a bit first. I got the keys off of him and then..."

"You set everyone free," James concluded.

"No," Otto said flatly. "I ran the hell out of there. I was going home."

Svet snickered at that, and James noticed that her glass was already empty. She reached over to refill it.

"I got outside and tried to steal a boat. I ended up getting held at gunpoint by a bunch of pirates, and by a bunch I mean two. Despite their reputation as fierce plunderers, most of them are shit shots even at close range. Plus, I was armed too. I ended up hiding their bodies and stealing their clothes. I sailed away with them, pretending to be part of the gang. The plan was to wait until they reached some kind of harbor then escape, but as you can imagine, things didn't go that way. The ships didn't really dock that much. We were a small fleet of 7 ships, and we cruised up and down the east coast attacking towns and other ships. Sometimes we traded with settlements, but whenever we landed in, we were way too far from D.C."

"And you just did that for 20-something years?" Svet asked.

"Well, no. That only lasted for a little while, but…" He looked at Svet again. The scotch bottle was empty. He and Svet were both sitting back in their respective couches. Both of their eyes were half shut, but she was still looking right at him. She wasn't a fool, and she would not let him get away with vaguely explaining everything.

"I was good at it. The best really. I liked it. I did it for me," he admitted. "I was invincible. I cut down everyone and everything that went up against me, and I could have whatever I wanted. Every town, every cap lying around - all of it! I was free. You know, I was never really happy in the Enclave. I was tired of… rules. I thought I found something else I loved, and after several years out there I ended up becoming captain.

"How did you do that?" James asked, still sipping his first glass of scotch.

Otto sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I had a long chat with the captain. I tried to give him some pointers about how we could maximize our haul, but, eh, he didn't like the way I was talking to him, so he decided the best course of action was to kill me for that offense."

"And?"

"Aaaaand I grabbed his and separated his head from his body with it."

"You still have the ship?" James asked.

"Sure, but I don't use it anymore. It's part of my fleet. I found a better one on a trip up the Hudson."

Svet sat up. "So, you escaped it all? That sounds about right." She scoffed.

"Look, kid, I'm sorry I didn't come back for you. Not that how I feel makes a difference."

"You couldn't have come back anyway, Otto," said Svetlana. "I left Adams when I was 18. Stole a Vertibird. So it goes." She grinned.

"And I thought I was nuts. You were a pilot, then?" Otto asked.

"No," said Svetlana. "I was the youngest member to ever make Enclave Squad Sigma. I would have been the leader of my own unit, too."

"Why weren't you?" asked James.

"No one wanted to put me in charge," she informed him.

"Wait, hey, seriously?" asked Otto. "You mastered marksmanship, hand to hand combat, and all 10 combat engagements before you were 18?"

"Yeah. I was good at it."

"Fuck." He laughed. "And you flew a vertibird and survived the escape."

"Yes. I burned the fuel out and crashed into NCR territory. Wandered around, killed some people, ran with a gang… There were no Enclave agents in Navarro, only NCR. I killed enough of them to get a big bounty on my head."

"You walked back east?"

"Yeah pop, only took me 15 more years." She shrugged. "You thought I was dead. Besides, I wouldn't have gone back either if I were you. Fuck the Enclave."

"Well, here you are. Look at us – 33 and 53 – both of us screw ups that turned into thugs. What's your occupation?" Otto asked her.

"We were bounty hunters," said James.

"Past tense?" Otto asked.

"The Legion put bounties on our heads," said James. "If we try to turn in a bounty, I imagine we'll be arrested too."

"The fucking Legion," Otto spat. "What did you do to piss them off?"

"Gave New Cilicia the key to start the revolution. Literally. Threw her the key."

"Nice," said Otto. "Legion had it coming. The Legion is trying to occupy Block Island, but if I could just round up the pirates… I think we could take 'em down," Otto explained.

"How many pirates are there here in total?" James asked.

"Hundreds. I'd put my money on thousands." Otto shook his head. "We can talk about it later. How did you two meet?"

"Prison," said James. "We were locked up together. We escaped together. We've been friends for a long time."

"Just friends?"

"Well, she's also been my doctor for a while. I have… a condition."

"What, like diabetes?" asked Otto with a smirk.

"No. I'm kind of cursed," said James.

"Oh, I've seen that," replied Otto.

"Not like me."

Just then, Svetlana started to snore. James kicked her away and they all started to laugh. It was the scotch.

"Hey, what was her mom's name?" James asked.

"Helga Autumn."

"Autumn is a pretty name," said James. "But she's always been a Bishop."

"You care a lot about family," said Otto. "Where's yours?"

"All dead," said James.

"Hm," mumbled Otto. "I see. Sorry."

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

 _Current Time:_

It didn't take Svetlana a while to realize that people were scared of Otto. He'd never lost a fight, and was, without a doubt, the best sword fighter on the island.

He and James were sparring – after six months of teaching James everything he knew about fighting, James was starting to become a fantastic fighter. He, Svetlana, and Otto's crew were devising a way to fight the Legion, but they couldn't quite get the rest of the pirates on board.

James assumed that he, Svet, and Otto were worth fifty good men, anyway.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

"Okay," said Candice. She and Martin were heading back to the basketball court, devising a plan. "We need to get X alone. We need to draw her to where she thinks Elsa will be. I'll distract her by asking for more caps, and then you get behind her and stab her."

"Um, Candy," Martin mumbled. "I don't know if you're heard this, but coursers are incredibly strong. They probably wouldn't… let that happen."

"Well, if you can't do it, I can."

But Martin was still uneasy.

"Relax, let me do the talking." They reached the market square where Madame X was before. They noticed her in the same place she was before, sipping vodka as if it were water. Martin supposed she didn't know that humans weren't supposed to do that.

"Madame, we were looking for you," said Candice.

"You do not have the criminal," X observed plainly. "Did you fail?"

"No," said Martin.

Candice elbowed him and took over the conversation. "We have her. We have her stashed close by."

"Really?" X asked. "Why not just bring her here?"

"Well, we want to be assured that we'll be paid. Plus, do you really want her screaming in public?" Candice asked.

X grinned. "No, I do not. Take me to her. But if you seek to double cross me, my employers will be certain that you'll regret it," she said.

"Don't worry Madame X, you'll get what's coming." Candice flashed a charming smile.

Candice and Martin started to lead Xandra away from the market and towards and abandoned building.

"She's in here," Candice said. She led Xandra to a closed door and shot Martin a look that said, _get behind her._ He did so quietly. "But, Madame X," said Candice. "Before we conduct our business, we'd like to receive the rest of the payment first."

Xandra responded casually; "You'll get your payment when I get my criminal."

"It doesn't work like that." Candice shook her head. "See out here, bounty hunters like to receive their payment _first_."

"If you are trying to cheat me, you are doing a bad job of it," Xandra replied coldly.

"No! We're not trying to cheat you, Madame X," Candice assured her. "We'd just like to receive our payment first before handing over the… goods," she said, as though it were that simple.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, but it stops here," Madame X declared. Her gloved hand pulled out a chic, white laser pistol

"Worth a shot," Candice mumbled. She gave Martin a nod, and he swung his Damascus steel blade at Xandra's neck. The Courser effortlessly ducked under the swing, and then swept Martin off of his feet. Martin fell to the ground with a grunt and a thud, but his armor took most of the impact. _Thank god for padding_. Candice drew her pistol and fired a couple of shots into the Courser's chest, but the courser's armor absorbed it all. Xandra started to fire bright blue streams of energy at Candice.

She spun away from the laser blasts and took a swing at Xandra with her free hand. He scored a direct hit on the Courser's chin and cheek. The FEV enhanced strength behind Candice's fist knocked the Courser to the ground. Martin tried to stab his sword into Xandra's chest, but she rolled out of the way. She fired twice at Martin. The shots left his body undamaged, but his armor was smoking.

Xandra, suddenly realizing Candice was a meta-human, turned her back and got ready to flee. "You can't stop us," she warned them. "There are more of us coming."

Martin tried to swing once more, but he missed her entirely.

"We know," said Candice. "And we don't care."

They didn't run after her, but they knew they wouldn't be seeing the last of her.

* * *

 **This was getting very long, so I decided to end it here. Birthday chapter for Ridley coming out on Sunday! After that, the chapter is going to feature David, Kiran, Cam, and Nathan as they make their way somewhere familiar…**

* * *

 **Question of the chapter:**

 **Are there any two OCs whose romantic relationship you really enjoy, or any two OCs who you feel like would have a strong romantic relationship together?**

* * *

 **Addendum:**

 **Real quick, I've had a request to post the stats for all of the main characters so readers could keep better track of them, so here they are!**

 **Not everyone was doing the stats on the same scale (some people put more total points than others), and some people didn't submit stats at all (I'm making it up for those who didn't submit stats). For those of you who submitted stats too modestly, I gave your characters some friendly stat boosts. For those who didn't submit modestly enough, I took a point or two away.**

 **David:**

 **Strength: 6, Perception: 9, Endurance: 5, Charisma: 6, Intelligence: 7, Agility: 7, Luck: 3**

 **Ben:**

 **Strength: 4, Perception: 8, Endurance: 3, Charisma: 7, Intelligence: 8, Agility: 4, Luck: 5**

 **Martin:**

 **Strength: 7, Perception: 4, Endurance: 7, Charisma: 4, Intelligence: 5, Agility: 8, Luck: 6**

 **Candice:**

 **Strength: 9, Perception: 6, Endurance: 8, Charisma: 5, Intelligence: 7, Agility: 8, Luck: 3**

 **Kiran:**

 **Strength: 6, Perception: 7, Endurance: 8, Charisma: 5, Intelligence: 8, Agility: 9, Luck: 6**

 **Lisa:**

 **Strength: 10, Perception: 8, Endurance: 6, Charisma: 8, Intelligence: 7, Agility: 6, Luck: 5**

 **Vic:**

 **Strength: 7, Perception: 5, Endurance: 6, Charisma: 4, Intelligence: 7, Agility: 6, Luck: 5**

 **Jonathan:**

 **Strength: 4, Perception: 10, Endurance: 5, Charisma: 3, Intelligence: 8, Agility: 8, Luck: 5**

 **Cam:**

 **Strength: 3, Perception: 7, Endurance: 6, Charisma: 4, Intelligence: 7, Agility: 8, Luck: 5**

 **Quasar:**

 **Strength: 6, Perception: 5, Endurance: 4, Charisma: 9, Intelligence: 6, Agility: 7, Luck: 4**

 **Elizabeth:**

 **Strength: 3, Perception: 6, Endurance: 8, Charisma: 8, Intelligence: 10, Agility: 7, Luck: 3**

 **James:**

 **Strength: 5, Perception: 6, Endurance: 6, Charisma: 7, Intelligence: 6, Agility: 5, Luck: 5**

 **Svetlana:**

 **Strength: 9, Perception: 8, Endurance: 6, Charisma: 4, Intelligence: 9, Agility: 7, Luck: 5**

 **Paladin Harris:**

 **Strength: 7, Perception: 5, Endurance: 5, Charisma: 9, Intelligence: 8, Agility: 5, Luck: 5**

 **Nathan:**

 **Strength: 7, Perception: 9, Endurance: 6, Charisma: 3, Intelligence: 6, Agility: 8, Luck: 10**

 **Harold (I had to lmao):**

 **Strength: 10,** **Perception: 1, Endurance: 9, Charisma: 3, Intelligence: 1, Agility: 4, Luck: 10**


	27. Legends of Quasar Jones' 29th Birthday

**First, let me just say that I really appreciate every one of the readers. I'm certainly no professional writer, and I know my plots aren't always the best, but you've all stuck with me and read this story, so I sure have to thank you all for that.**

 **Anyway, so Ridley pretty much wrote this chapter, I just changed a few words and sentences here and there (maybe added a scene or two), so you owe this one to him! Happy birthday buddy!**

 **Also, this chapter is fucking ridiculous.**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

"So, I guess you're wondering one thing. And one thing alone..."

Quasar was hanging upside down, suspended by a rope. Actually, multiple ropes! He was also quite calm, in fact.

Actually, he was having the time of his life because he was drunk as hell. It was his birthday, and he had been drinking non-stop for the past four hours. "It's a long story, ladies and gentlemen... But I'll tell it to you, if you don't mind. You don't? Nice… I'm speaking to a wall with a half-naked pre-war girl on it! Oh, whupity-doo!"  
-

So, I'm sitting in a bar. In Grand City, mind you, so it's guaranteed to be full of pompous assholes and mercenaries looking to spill a little bit of blood, also, drunk people. A hell of a lot of them, actually.

It's happy hour, though, so there's a discount. This means the bar is packed, the air is chock full of cancer hazards and second-hand smoke with a nice bit of radiation mixed in. What a prime way to spend an evening.

Anyway, I'm sitting at this bar, Camisha and Kiran to the left of me. What a cute couple, but I shouldn't really be telling you this, since they don't know they're getting together… well, they're only half as cute as me and Elizabeth, but that's not the point… Also, she's sleeping with Nathan (who is not as cute as me), but that's beside the point.

So, I'm sitting in a bar, Camisha and Kiran to the left of me, Elizabeth and David to the right. So, they all start giving me birthday gifts! Elizabeth gives me a long box, so I open it and pull out a new shishkebab. I'm really happy about this, since my shishkebab broke during a training session with Harold.

I start twirling around my new 'Quantum-bab' (at least that's what I heard Elizabeth call it). It's pretty much a shishkebab with some technology involving quantum… physics?

It's very hot, basically, so it has blue flames. Yes people, blue flames. Isn't that the best fucking thing ever? I was pretty damn pleased when I turned it on and it turned blue. Blue is a good color.

So, while I'm doing my twirling, I nearly hit this random dude. Ugly guy, at least a foot taller than me. And he got very pissed, very fast…

So, he gets angry at me, blabbering on about how I put the human race to shame. Honestly, I only heard about two percent of his entire eight-minute speech, but I did not like what I did hear… So, obviously, I cut his dick off.

He falls to the floor, screaming like a little girl. Everything stops. The patrons of the bar just stare at this big-ass dude with tattoos covering every inch of his body writhing about, crying out obscenities and holding his smoking groin area.

Another guy comes at me from god knows where. I'm too drunk to dodge his fist, so instead I swing the sword in his direction, I strike gold, or in this case, his wrist, I get the Quantumbab lodged in his bone, and it takes a few seconds of sizzling and cracking for the sword to fully cut its way through. The guy just stands there as his hand falls off and hits the floor with a flop!

The patrons just stand there too, drunk and in awe at the spectacle. The blue flame illuminates my face, and I look like shit. Still better than Nathan, though.

Then they part, and I see more guys coming at me, and Rational Quasar kicks in. They have swords too, but none as badass as my kickass Quantumbab. The one nearest to me holds his sword in the air, stumbling about, I recognize the fact that he is about to hit my head, so I get out of the way as he brings it down, striking the marble floor and crackling it. He struggles to pull it out. Now's my chance, I slice off his arms and the top of his head with a single swing.

Another guy comes at me next (how nice and how cliché of them to come at me one at a time). He attempts to drive the sword through my abdomen, but I throw myself back just as he lunges, the tip of the blade catching on my shirt and ripping it slightly. I fall back over the armless and partially headless body of the previous goon.

I back up on the floor, scrambling away as the other guy trips over the body as well, I grab a nearby bottle of scotch and smash it against the goon's head, then I ram the stump of the broken bottle into his throat. He jerks back, grasping and choking as blood spurts out, covering my face,

My vision begins to blur, my sword is somewhere - my precious Quantum-bab! I realize I am sitting on it. So, I pick myself up, Quantum-bab in hand, and I feel a sharp pain against my back. I've been electrocuted. F U C K. I let go of the blade and sink down to my knees. Men surround me as they step over their two colleagues.

I feel another sharp pain as I am hit again. I fall onto my face. The men point their guns at me, one of them, who seems to be their leader (as he is dressed more like a fashion model than a gangster) picks up my Quantum-kebab while I struggle and grunt.

"H-h-hey! You can't take that!" I manage to gurgle out.

The man looks down on me and laughs. "Why can't I, Mister Jones?"

"Because it-it's my fucking birthday present, from a girl I like, no l-less!" Cue laughter from the other men as they cackle at my misfortune.

"Oh, Jonesy, don't worry! We'll give you a birthday to remember, won't we, boys?" He looks around as the others nod at him and murmur. What do you mean it doesn't make sense that they know my name? This is my story, not yours, poster of a woman on the wall!

I lift my head up. "That's mine... "That's mi-"

The leader hits my head with something (perhaps his dick?), the world explodes into a million bright lights of pain, and then I'm out cold.

Best birthday party gone wrong ever.

* * *

 **1.2**

* * *

"Was that a good enough story for you? Eh?" Quasar made gestures with his hands as he attempted to swing towards a table with a knife resting on it.

"So, I've got to reach that knife before old saggy tits comes back to punch me again, any suggestions on how?"

Crickets. Quasar's expression turned glum.

"And why did I expect something else to happen? This isn't a pre-war children's show, god damn it."

Quasar swung himself towards the table again, beginning to rant:

"-Oh, I'm sorry, Quasar! But James asked to break the fourth wall first! – Well I hope he's having fun on his piratical adventure somewhere other than here! That samurai wannabe cowboy hybrid douchebag! With a healing factor? What is this? 2029?" Quasar scoffed.

"And why did they try to make me care about Svetlana? Oh, she's from the Enclave! And her dad is there too? Great, that's fucking dumb… I still hate the bitch, she was a bitch to me when I saw her, so I'm bitching about her in public… to a wall… Oh well. Besides, I killed her probably-lover… but he came back to life… how, you may ask? I don't fucking know!

"Oh! And Elizabeth as well! She spends more time tending to Harold - that awesome little bastard – than me! I need love and affection too, god damn it! Hell, I'm pretty sure she already left me for Nathan… I mean I know I wasn't even there, but damn-"

He inched towards the knife with his finger, and in a very quick motion, he scooped it up in his hand.

"Also, David, if I weren't straight I'd totally sleep with your ass."

Quasar then began the tough work of cutting away the rope. He was doing pretty well, cutting as quickly as he could, and he eventually fell to the ground. He stood up straight and observed the portrait on the wall. "Cute…" he mumbled. "Ah, fuck it." He tore the pin-up down and stuffed it into his pocket.

Just then, old saggy tits came in. He certainly had… saggy tits. Quasar jumped on the table, did a backflip, and landed on saggy tits. He slit his throat with the knife and slipped Tits' laser pistol from his pocket.

Quasar burst out into the hallway, firing the new laser pistol at goons running down the hall towards him. No, he did not cower behind anything! Quasar was as handsome and dashing as Christian Grey, but a little less kinky… a little…

He used the limp body of saggy tits to shield himself from bullets. "I am a tactical mastermind," he whispered to the pin-up.

He threw saggy tits at a man with a minigun and they both tumbled down a staircase. Yes, it makes perfect sense that there would be a staircase in the middle of the hallway. Is this your story? No? Then how would you know where there is or isn't a staircase!

Quasar reached his hands out and crushed the windpipes of two grown men at the same time. Boom. Strong Quasar.

Four raiders walked down the hallway, and an alarm began to blare in the background.

"Keep an eye out," one of them said to the others. "He could anywhere 'round here."

Just then, Quasar's voice broke out into singing from down the hall: "The sailors say 'Brandy, you're a fine girl. What a good wife you would be. But my life, my lover, my lady, is the sea...'"

The raiders looked at each other in a mix of amusement and a suspension of disbelief right before the voice piped up again.

"You like the song, guys? It's 'Brandy' by Looking Glass! I heard it on the radio once, and oh, was it magnificent ! I mean, I would sing more, but songfics aren't allowed, which fucking sucks ass, man!"

The same raider that spoke before spoke again, chuckling along with the others. "Well! You do have the voice of an angel-"

"Thanks, dude!"

"You're welcome, Jones, but I'm afraid my buddies and I have been sent to skin your ass into perfectly compact pieces for what you did to Fat Joey back there!"

"Oh." Quasar looked over at the body of old saggy tits. "Was that who that was? I mean, ten points for the name and all, but seriously? 'Fat Joey'? Well, I won't miss him! He knocked out some teeth!"

The raiders laughed some more, and so did Quasar. He held that laser pistol in one hand and a grenade in the other. He looked down at them awkwardly before looking back up. In a bright flash of genius, he decided to poke his head out from behind the doorway in which he was hiding.

"Hello, everyon-" he pulled his head back in quickly when an array of bullets struck the wall where his head would have been if he had reeled it in a nanosecond later.

"Guys! Guys! Jesus! Why're you trying to kill me? I was just trying to be friendly! But nope, you've decided that shooting me would be the best course of action in this current moment! Which is sad! I wanted to get to know you! But, oh well… you're _sure_ going to get to know me.

"So yep, hi, hello all, I'm Quasar Jones! Not my real name at all, but it sounded cool on paper. 'The brightest thing In the universe'. Hell, if I weren't so full of myself, I'd consider that a bit too much. Uh, I was born and raised in the Capital Wasteland, and my entire settlement was massacred when I was nine! A bit young to see people being burned alive. Just a bit… So this guy - Grissom - ghoul, ugly as hell, wears wife-beaters all the time… Well, wore, more like… saved me.

"And so, he raised me as a killer! And man I did kill! I killed a hell of a lot of people, actually. I think it was seventeen bounties under my belt by my fourteenth birthday." It absolutely wasn't that many, but they didn't need to know that. Well, speaking of my belt, Grissom really liked it under there. Long story short, I lost my virginity to a ghoul. And no, I did not want it. That dick was **coarse**.

"So, I killed him, left his body to rot, and I came here. I put my talents as a bounty hunter to good use, and I became well known! Well known as an asshole, but one that gets things done! Sixty-three kills in the past two years, four of those being bandit leaders… Such as that one who has the Quantumbab that I really, really want back."

Quasar checked to see if they were still listening. They were, but they were also setting up a turret at the opposite end of the hallway.

"I'll tell you what! I have the weirdest birthdays! I mean, for my twentieth I celebrated in a cave filled with cannibals who wanted to eat my balls to preserve their youth. My twenty-fifth I spent it rolling around with a Robobrain who thought the war was still going on. Last year I got so, so drunk that I woke up, completely naked, in a radscorpion nest, hell, that was really, really fun. So now it's my twenty-ninth, and I'm spending it in a raider den trying to get my a gift from a girl I like, and honestly, want to screw the shit out of."

The turret was finished and it whirred to life, ready to bust Quasar's balls any second now. He realized this and began to shout. "Hey! You know I'm really, really drunk, righ-ht?"

The raider who spoke up before replied with: "Yes! We figured as much! And that was a really, really nice story! But I'm afraid it's your turn to die, Jones."

"My turn? Who aid anything about it being my turn? I have a picture of a half-naked girl in my pocket, and you want to talk with me about it being my time to die? Fuck you, seriously, man, you're a loser." Quasar took in a deep breath and counted his bullets. "Six bullets..." He loaded the laser pistol, and then smiled at the audience. "Let's count them down!"

He rushed out from cover, gun in hand and grenade in the other, he fired a shot, hitting a raider square in the jaw and separating it from his face.

"One!"  
 _Click, click._

"Shit!"

Quasar wedged himself into a doorway as the turret tore large chunks out of the hallway walls. A bullet grazed his arm and took with it a patch of his leather jacket's sleeve. For fucks sake, he'd bought this less than a day ago! With his hard earned caps! Five-hundred caps!

The turret stopped. It started bobbing up and down. The laser pistol was jammed. Crap balls. Quasar had to think of another plan. But for now, he was fucking pissed. "You just ruined my jacket! You assholes!"

The raider laughed. "We're going to ruin a whole lot more than that, Mr. Jones! Any last words!?"

Quasar then remembered the grenade still in his other hand. "Well, yeah, just one word..."

He tossed the grenade down the hallway, and it bounced off the turret.

"Boom!"

The raider looked down at the grenade and sighed. "Oh, shit."

The explosion turned him and his buddies into little compact pieces. Bits of the turret flew down the hallway.

Quasar walked out of cover, inspecting his ruined jacket. "Hell."

He surveyed the destruction, picking up a different laser pistol that was nearby. He checked it. It still had ammo.

Knowing that his work was not yet done, he walked down the hallway, past the smoking remains of the turret, stepping over some intestines. He still had a Quantumbab to find and a raider fashion model to kill.

"Brandy, you're a fine girl..." He sang.

He made his way to the boss' office and burst in. "Quantumbab!" he cried, pushing past the boss and grabbing for his sword.

The boss tried to turn it on, but he couldn't find the switch. "Ugh!" he cried.

"You can't even use it!" Quasar objected. He took the Quantumbab back. "Look." He showed the boss the switch. "A baby could use this!" He turned it on and then swung at the boss. They had an epic sword fight. No, trust me, it was epic. Epic. There were flames spewing everywhere and Quasar did at least a cartwheel and a half.

Quasar sliced upward, searing the boss' face off. He stabbed the sword through the boss' heart and took the pin-up from his pocket. He pinned it to the boss' burned off face.

"After all, a girl is, well, a girl. It's nice to be told you're successful at it," Quasar quoted. He ran out of the compound. He used his Quantumbab to set everything on fire, and then stood in front of the compound with his hands on his hips.

The entire compound exploded and he stood with his hands on his hips. A job well done.

* * *

 **1.3**

* * *

It was quiet at the bar in Grand City, and Quasar was sipping on a coffee. He looked disheveled, and his shirt was torn. "I'm telling you, all of that really did happen," he assured the couple to whom he was telling the story.

"You definitely don't look like you know how to do a backflip," the man informed Quasar.

"It was the adrenaline," argued Quasar. "This coffee is really good. What did you say the kind of sugar you put in it was called?" he asked the woman.

"Rohypnol," she replied.

"Oh… is that an artificial sweetener?" asked Quasar.

"Sure," said the man, and that was the last thing Quasar remembered before he passed out.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

"Where do you think Quasar went?" Elizabeth asked everyone at the Railroad.

"Grand city, I guess," replied Deacon. "Probably over exaggerating the time you, Harold, David, and Vic went to get his sword back from like four raiders."

"Probably," Vic agreed.

* * *

 **Happy birthday Ridley!**

 **Here is a note from Ridley himself:**

 _ **Hey, guys, its Ridley! Hi! Hello! Salutations! I'm so glad that this hot mess of a chapter came to fruition (wow, big words for a newly fifteen year old), well, honestly, it was Dude's idea, and one that I'm really, really, grateful for, so yeah, thanks Dude! And also big thanks to all of you for reading this. From YoungBlood23, whose (slightly early) belated birthday message was really, really awesome, to PersoNonGrata, your vague as hell happy birthday to everybody in this non-post apocalyptic political wasteland was cool, incredibly cool.**_

 _ **The fourth wall-breaking in this chapter was my biggest wish, and honestly, it worked perfectly with everybody's third-favourite bounty hunter. Sorry SymmetryMaster, as much as I despise James and Svetlana, I respect them for being badasses, that doesn't mean you get to break the wall first, though!**_

 _ **So, yeah, happy birthday to me, and I now declare May 14th National Quasar Jones day. Enjoy it!**_

 _ **I'm just going to stop rambling now, once again, a massive thank you to MyDude5 for this. The doomsday clock may be at two and a half minutes to midnight, but Brandy is still a fine girl.**_

 _ **-Ridley.**_


	28. There's a First Time For Everything

**1.1**

* * *

"Deacon," said Cam. Deacon was pretending to sunbathe under a bright light in the botany lab.

"Hello Ne-e-ew Cilicia," said Deacon.

"Don't call me that," Cam replied.

Deacon didn't stand up, but he sighed. "How can I help you?"

"I have to go home," Cam said. "I… I want to go back to Vault 85. They sent out a radio signal after Thelonious heard that I was, well, _New_ _Cilicia_."

"Okay," said Deacon.

"Okay?" Cam asked.

"Yeah. You're a great girl, but you seem sad. Go home. Send a postcard. Come back soon," said Deacon. "Bring Kiran," he suggested.

Cam stood silently by Deacon sunbathing.

"Deacon, Cam, can you get out of the lab? The carrots are photosynthesizing." Elizabeth requested from the corner of the lab. "You're upsetting them."

"You heard the girl, Cam. Go home," Deacon told Cam. "I, too, am photosynthesizing."

"Okay," said Cam. "I'll get Kiran."

Cam slipped into Kiran's room. She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Kiran read.

After a second, Kiran peeked out from behind her book. "Oh, hey!" she announced. "Did you just get here?"

"Yeah," Cam said. Cam explained her plan to Kiran quickly, and then asked if Kiran was willing to come.

"Sure!" Kiran announced. "Do I get to meet your family?"

"My dad," Cam told her. "Grab your stuff. I think we should go soon."

Cam and Kiran walked by the Botany lab to leave, and Cam waved goodbye to Deacon. She accidentally bumped into Nathan.

"Sorry," she mumbled to him.

"Where are you going?" he asked innocently – so innocently, in fact, that she told him. She and Kiran said a quick goodbye, and they both slipped out of the vault together.

The longest part of the walk was the walk to the Vertibird flying service, where they were going to rent a Vertibird to get to Albany.

"Oh man, I can't wait," said Kiran. "I haven't been on a real mission since Elizabeth disabled my synth component," she explained. "And I'm excited."

Cam nodded. "They should know what became of Katherine."

"He's probably proud," Kiran blurted out. "Your father – he's probably proud. I'm sure of it. You've done a lot of good."

"Not enough," Cam mumbled, half to Kiran, half to herself.

"Cam," said Kiran. "Not to be alarming or anything, but I think someone is following us."

Even though she didn't mean to be alarming, Cam was very alarmed. She spun around, whipped out her baseball bat, and got ready to hit the next moving thing she saw with it. "Come out here!" she demanded.

"Hey!" David emerged from behind a building. "Sorry! Just wanted to make sure no one tried to jump you or anything."

"We can handle ourselves," Cam told him.

"She means, 'thanks for coming David, we'd love your help,'" Kiran informed him. And then she whispered, "I think she's just hangry."

"You are not whispering," Cam informed her, but she was grinning. "Should we grab something to eat before we take the flight, then?"

"If it'll make you stop looking like you're about to hit both of us with that bat, I'll let you eat anything," Kiran told Cam, only half realizing the innuendo of the statement.

"I'll, uh, take you up on that," Cam said.

There was a long silence that David broke. "Okay, I have mongrel jerky!"

They sat and started to eat, when Kiran said, "Hey Cam, not to alarm you again, but I think someone else is following us too."

"Oh, Hell," Cam groaned. She turned around too, shuffling to look at a slim, dark figure in the distance. "Is it a ghoul?" she asked.

"No, it's fucking Nathan," Kiran told them.

"What's fucking Nathan?" David asked.

"No, it _is_ Nathan," Kiran said. "Nathan, what the fuck!" she called into the distance.

The figure grew larger and less dark as Nathan paced up to them. "Sorry," he said. "I was told to keep an eye on you all. I wouldn't want anyone getting hurt."

"No, you wouldn't," David replied.

There was silence.

"Sit," Cam said. "We have jerky."

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

Quasar woke up. He tried to move, but he was groggy. He was groggy and he was strapped to an operating table. He started to pull against the restraints violently, thrashing and writhing.

The only noise in the clean, white room was his grunts. "Let me out of here!" he screamed. He started spewing profanity until the room started to glow red, and a door opened.

A black woman with buzzed, black hair walked into the room. She was wearing a lab coat, and once Quasar got a good look at her, he realized she was beautiful.

"Where am I?" he snapped. "Let me out! I'll kill you!"

"Oh, well if you're going to kill me, I'd rather not let you out. My name is Madeline Chester. Good morning." There was more silence. "I said good morning."

"Fuck you."

She sighed. "Quasar Jones. You know, a while back I sent an operative out to collect DNA from you by fucking you," she explained. "You see, Mr. Jones, we're cloning you."

Quasar thrashed some more. "Why? Why me?"

"Because you are very good at what you do."

"Fuck you!"

Madeline ignored him and strapped his head down. She took a razor and started to shave a part of his head.

"Don't touch my fucking hair!" he wailed.

When she was done, she placed a mask around his mouth. "Count down from ten," she told him. And then she turned on a drill.

"Are you lobotomizing me? No, no, no, no…" on the tenth 'no', he passed out.

* * *

 **3.1**

* * *

"Grammar," said Elizabeth. "Yes?"

"Grammar yes?" Valerie raised an eyebrow.

"Kind of?" Elizabeth offered. "Well, you know how to read, which is good for a fifteen year old nowadays," she complimented.

"Thanks," Valerie said. She had only turned fifteen a few weeks ago, and the entire Railroad elected Elizabeth as a makeshift 'teacher' for the kid.

"Okay, the first thing a lot of people get wrong is a coordinating conjunction," Elizabeth said.

"Aren't you a scientist?" Valerie replied.

"Yeah. A literateone. Anyway – for, and, nor, but, or, yet, so." Elizabeth wrote the words on a blackboard with chalk. "If you have two sentences, you can put them together by using a coordinating conjunction, but here's the thing – you've gotta have a comma."

"I know what a comma is," replied Valerie.

Elizabeth wrote: _I am a scientist, but I can read._ On the board.

"If you don't have 'but', then it's a run-on," she explained. "And if you don't have the comma, it's a run-on."

"What's so bad about a run-on?" asked Valerie.

Elizabeth erased the 'but' with her thumb so it said: _I am a scientist, I can read._ "It's ugly," she offered.

"Okay. Got it. Commas."

"Also, punctuating quotes," she said. "Put a comma or period inside of the quotation. It's the one thing most people forget. Commas, Valerie."

"I understand," Valerie mumbled. "When do you use a period versus comma?"

"If the next action after the quote isn't describing how the character said the quote, then you use a period and capitalize the next word." She wrote an example on the board.

"Elizabeth?" asked Valerie.

"Yes?"

"Do you teach sex-ed?"

Elizabeth paused. "Nope! I'm the Virgin Mary! Next question?"

"How don't you get pregnant if there aren't any condoms in this vault?" Valerie asked again.

"Remember the time I told you that I blew up once?"

"Yes?"

"I don't recommend it, but blowing up _usually_ spays you."

"Oh," said Valerie. "What do you do if you don't have a bionic uterus?"

"Uh… abstain?"

"Okay, but what if –"

"Valerie, where are these boys you're talking about? You're the only one here younger than 21!" Elizabeth interrupted. "I'm going to go… harvest the carrots."

"Photosynthesis!" Valerie announced.

Elizabeth gave a thumbs up.

* * *

 **4.1**

* * *

As they headed back to the club, Martin and Candice debated on what to say to Elsa when they broke the bad news that X6-91 was still alive and more courses were coming.

They entered the nightclub through the back entrance and then headed to the private room where Elsa was waiting.

"Did you kill her?" the blonde synth demanded.

"Um," said Martin. "The thing is… we kinda underestimated the courser."

"You didn't kill her?" Elsa took in a sharp breath of air.

"We tried our best," Candice offered gently. "We had a plan to kill her, but she got away. She said that more would come."

Elsa sat on the bed and placed her head gently into her hands. "This is bad," she whispered. "Really bad!"

Martin sat next to her and hesitantly wrapped an arm around her. He didn't see Candice frown.

"Look, we're sorry," he told Elsa. "But I promise that Candy and I will protect you."

There was a pause, and Candice looked none-too-pleased about the offer he just made.

"Do you mean it?" asked Elsa. "Or… or are you working for the courser?"

"I know you don't have a good reason to trust us," said Martin. "But if there's one thing I want to be remembered for, it's that I keep my promises."

Elsa looked to Candice for confirmation, and the other blonde nodded. "It's true."

"So you both promise to protect me?" asked Elsa.

"Well, it wouldn't be knightly of me to not protect a beautiful girl like you," Martin joked. Elsa smiled, and Candice rolled her eyes. "I'm serious!" said Martin. "I'll protect you until my dying day."

Elsa popped up and wrapped him in her arms. "Thank you!"

"Do you have anywhere you can stay?" Candice asked.

"N…No," Elsa admitted. "This club was the only place I could find…"

"Well, it looks like you're coming to the Railroad with us," said Candice. "The best way to keep the courser off of our tails is to find them."

"I'll take my cut from the manager, crab my stuff, and then go," said Elsa.

"Are you sure your boss will be okay with this?" asked Martin.

"He might not like it, but leave him to me. I'll make sure he's happy with me leaving," Elsa assured the two.

* * *

 **4.2**

* * *

Elsa was talking to Deacon and Elizabeth, who were fiddling with her synth components.

Meanwhile, Candice and Martin were sitting in their old room in Vault 002. Martin was running his thumb up and down the action figures he'd scavenged while working for the Railroad. "This one is from Tæles of Chivalry," he told Candice.

She didn't respond.

"Candy, are you mad at me?"

Candice sighed. "No."

Martin pressed his lips together. He was sitting in a loose t-shirt and jeans, and Candice was still in her combat gear. "Hey Candice?"

"What?" she asked.

"Come with me," he said. "Wait – can I blindfold you?" he asked.

"Can you… blindfold me?" she asked.

"Yeah. It's a surprise."

She reluctantly agreed, and they made their way out of the room and down a few sets of stairs.

"Where are we going?" asked Candice.

"You know what a surprise is, Candy," he told her. "It's, well, a surprise!"

She rolled her eyes under the blindfold.

He led her down a final staircase and into a room that smelled like lavender. He turned on the lights and took off the blindfold.

They were in a simple vault room with a comfortable-looking bed, a small couch, and a dresser with a changing screen.

"Why are we in here? It looks like nobody's ever lived here."

"Go look in the dresser," he suggested. "The surprise is in there."

She raised an eyebrow at him, but opened the dresser. She let out a small gasp when she was the content.

Inside, there was a long, blue, strapless silk dress. It wasn't too revealing, and left just enough up to the imagination. It looked just like the old dresses Candice used to look at in fashion magazines. She touched the fabric gently and a smile crept onto her face.

"Martin, where did you get this?" She caressed the silk in awe. She held it out in front of her and admired its form.

"I remembered you telling me you'd always wanted a real dress. I asked around and found a pre-war designer store in the Upper East Side. I made my way there and fought through some super mutants and ghouls, but it was worth it."

"How much is it worth?" she asked.

"I'm not a fashion expert… obviously… but a mint-condition pre-war dress would probably go for a lot to the right person. Hey, try it on," he offered.

She, without any further encouragement, ran excitedly behind the changing screen. He saw her silhouette as she stripped out of the vault suit and pulled the dress over her feet.

She stepped out from behind the curtain and his eyes went wide. The dress accentuated all of her features, and his face went red.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"Wow! Is all I have to say! Wow!" They both then became painfully aware of Martin's obvious erection. _I'm never wearing jeans again_.

"I can't thank you enough for this dress," she said to him. She sashayed to him and then stood in his personal space. "I mean, I really can't."

"Oh, gee," Martin mumbled. "It was nothing. Just a day trip…" He was beet red.

"No, I'm serous," she said. "You need a reward for risking your life. Let me get champagne." She left the room, leaving Martin red and eager.

In a few minutes, she came back with wine. "No champagne," she apologized. "This is Elizabeth's red."

"She gave you her red wine?" Martin asked.

"I told her I'd let her run a few tests on my blood if she gave it to me," Candice explained.

They both sat on the couch and drank the red slowly.

"Martin," Candice said when they were finished. "You really do deserve a reward, and I know just the thing."

She kissed Martin fully on the lips, and his brain shut down when he felt her lips finally touch his.

She lifted him to his feet and pushed him onto the bed.

"Wait, I didn't do this just so I could get into your–"

Candice cut him off, "I know." She undid the clip of her dress and it fell to a puddle around her feet.

 _Maybe there is a God_ , Martin thought to himself as she pulled off his shirt. _Just maybe._

* * *

 **4.3**

* * *

"Martin and Candice banged last night," Vic told Lisa and Elizabeth.

"They took my wine," Elizabeth told both of them. "I mean, Candice offered to let me test her blood, but they still took my wine."

"How do you think it went?" asked Lisa.

"Well, between all three of us, he was a major virgin before this," Vic told the two of them. "So he probably like… missed the hole and ignored her clit."

Lisa snorted. "Maybe you should teach anatomy," she suggested to Elizabeth.

"Are we talking about anatomy?" Valerie jogged into the room. They were all sitting in Lisa's room, gossiping like teenagers.

They all went a little bit quiet.

"You guys, I'm fifteen!" Valerie snapped.

"Fifteen year olds do quantum physics, not boys," Elizabeth informed her.

"What kind of fifteen year olds..." Vic's voice trailed off.

The four heard shuffling, and they all turned to watch Martin slide past their room in jeans and a t-shirt.

"Does he look happy?" asked Vic. "I can't tell."

Lisa peeked her head out of the room. "Where is Candice?"

"Did they have sex?" Valerie asked. Lisa shushed her and they all waited.

Candice eventually walked out, and Elizabeth jogged after her. "Hey, can I get that blood sample?"

Candice was carrying a dress.

"Cool dress," Elizabeth said. "Blood samples, though?"

"Elizabeth, can we have a girl talk?" Candice asked her.

"Is it a talk about blood samples?"

"It… can be?" Candice offered.

Elizabeth and Candice popped into the biotech labs and Elizabeth prepped a syringe.

Candice eventually said, "Obviously you know I slept with Martin."

"Obviously." Elizabeth wiped down Candice's arm with a pad soaked in rubbing alcohol.

"When you sleep with Nathan, do you... does he... How long..." Candice couldn't seem to ask a question.

"Usually lasts a _long_ time," Elizabeth said. "Did Martin..."

"He did not," replied Candice. "I thought it was going to be perfect, but it washis first time..."

"So, what you're saying is that you didn't orgasm once?" Elizabeth stuck the needle into Candice's arm.

"I didn't say that," replied Candice.

"You didn't have to. Bad sex is a bummer." She drew Candice's blood. "But it was his first time. Are you going to try again?"

"I don't know," said Candice. "He got me a nice dress, and his... member was perfectly large, but he just didn't know how to use it."

Elizabeth gave a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure he'll get better."


	29. Et Tu?

**Hey everyone. For now, don't send me any sections that you've written (I have a lot to sort through right now). For now, if you have a chapter you want to be submitted, PM me the idea instead of an entire novella.**

* * *

 **1.1**

* * *

It was the first tine in a long time that somebody taught James humility. Six months and still James never beat Otto in a fight. In fact, he barely ever landed a single hit on Otto Bishop. Otto, on the other hand, broke James' nose and knocked him to the ground more times than he could count.

At the same time, he'd also watched Svetlana and Otto beat each other senseless more than once. James, though, wondered how a big man like Otto could move so quickly, even with that synth leg.

Otto taught James something called Vaganova style, saying it was a way to fight more than one opponent at once. It wasn't until two months in that James realized Vaganova was a ballet style, and in the pre-war tradition of straight white men being hyper masculine, James complained about this to Otto.

"Boy, it's a discipline. Any kind of discipline can be turned into a weapon, even dance. Two months ago you could barely fight one man, now you can hold off six at once."

James liked Otto, and it was moments like that, which solidified James' feelings.

After six months and many other "dances", James learned to stop acting like a student and more like his old self.

James poured himself a glass of whiskey. "So, tell me what you know about the Legion."

"Starting with what?" Svet, at the moment, was fighting challengers in a contest at the other side of town.

"How many ships do they have?"

"67," Otto answered quickly. "Pour me a whiskey."

"Does this island have mortars?"

"Yeah – the Legion assumes our shoreline guns would rip 'em a new one before they ever made it ashore. But here's the problem – the pirates here are essentially raiders. If the Legion ever did make it ashore, they could kill us all. Second, the Legion has spies – frumentarii or whatever – and a guy caught one trying to sabotage our mortars a year ago. Look, what I'm saying is that there are Legion spies on this island."

"Any ideas as to who they are?" James poured the whiskey.

"Well, a lot of these pirates are idiots," said Otto. "Half of 'em could be working with the Legion for all I know. The only people exempt from the idiot pool are Captain Dan, Captain Anna, and my best competition, Captain Dennis. That con man swindled his way into controlling 16 ships."

"Do you not like him?"

"I respect him, but I'm weary of him. He's got no friends, but he isn't the sort of man who'd cut a deal with the Legion."

"I don't know who it is," said James. "But I know that we've been followed since we sat down at this waystation."

"Obviously," replied Otto.

"What I mean is that they're behind us right now… probably hearing me say everything."

Otto didn't flinch. "Who?"

"Skinny kid. Short."

"Timmy?"

"Yeah, the kid with burns," said James. "He doesn't ever meet up with anyone, but… Fuck, I've seen him sketch under the bar with his knife."

Otto shook his head. "Frumentarii have gotten good. Much better than they were before."

"How so?"

"Well, the first Caesar died years ago. The new one to take up the title was an old agent – Vulpes Inculta."

James said he'd go to the bar, and Otto went down to the beach. He watched Timmy watch him go down to the beach, and then he realized that five big men were following him too.

When Otto got to the beach he turned and noticed one of his own crewmembers, a guy named Tyler. "Et tu, Tyler?" Otto joked.

"Et me, you old prick," Tyler replied.

Things were about to get complicated. Complicated and messy.

* * *

 **2.1**

* * *

Martin sat awkwardly, thinking of his "performance" last night. He knew it was his first time sleeping with an actual person, and he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't wanted to sleep with Candice, but he had opened that he would have lasted longer than he did.

Would Candice leave him because he only lasted four minutes and eight seconds? Probably not, but he was still worried.

He was disturbed from his thoughts when Elsa sat beside him. "Hey, how was your night?" she inquired, feigning innocence.

"Fine," Martin mumbled.

"Everyone knows you and Candice slept together last night," said Elsa.

"Great," Martin groaned. "Now Deacon and Vic are going to give me all sorts of shit."

"I'm sure you were good enough to satisfy Candice," Elsa offered. She added, when she saw Martin's mournful expression, "Not that great?"

"No, it was great!" Martin snapped. "It felt really good…"

"For you?" Elsa asked. There was a pause, and then she said, "So you're worried Candice is going to go around telling everyone you didn't last long?"

"Is she going to do that?" Martin asked.

"I don't know Candice well, but I don't think she is. And I'm sure she'd sleep with you again… if you worked on your stamina."

"How do I do that?"

Elsa bit her lit for a second. "If you'd like I can teach you some things… to make it better for the next time?"

"Teach me?" Martin asked. "How?"

"What do you think?" Elsa asked.

Martin exclaimed, "You're gonna have sex with me?!"

"No!" Elsa snapped. "I'll just give you pointers that will help you last longer in bed," she told him. "And maybe you can practice what you've learned on me?"

"Uh… yes. When's the first lesson?" he asked.

"We can start tonight," she offered.

"Um, okay, I guess," he mumbled.

"Great, see you after dinner!" She got up from her spot and sauntered out of the room. Martin stared after her and felt his dick twitch in his pants.

"Weird…" he mumbled, fighting down a blush.

* * *

 **2.2**

* * *

"Check this out," Elizabeth pulled Lisa and Vic into the vault's biotech lab. "This is Elsa's synth component scan."

"Not to be rude, but it doesn't look like anything to me," Lisa told her.

"Okay, so what I've gathered is that she's basically FISTO 2.0 – she was designed for sex," Elizabeth explained. "Usually synths have really mediocre gonads. Hell, some don't even have any! But, no, she has a state of the art… hoo ha."

"Is that a scan of her…" Vic's voice trailed off.

"No, that's her brain. I'm telling you about the genital thing so the brain thing makes more sense. Her brain basically programmed to release dopamine and endorphins and all sorts of good stuff when she sees her designated owner."

"Isn't her owner some pervy science guy living underground?" Vic asked.

"Yes, but he… damaged the goods, and even I can't find a way to force a synth to walk willingly into rape," Elizabeth explained.

"So who's her owner now?" Lisa asked.

"Either Candice or Martin, I'd say," Elizabeth told them. "I think Martin. Basically Elsa is hard-wired to want Martin's limp, unsatisfying dick."

Lisa and Vic burst into laughter.

* * *

 **3.1**

* * *

They all stood outside of the Vault – outside of Cam's old home. The door creaked open, letting out a little hiss, and Thelonious, in all of his Overseer glory, stepped outside. "Is it true?" he asked Cam.

"Is what true?" Cam asked.

"Did you start that Legion rebellion? Are you Cilicia?"

Nathan's ears piped up, and he waited patiently for her answer.

Cam nodded, and her father took a step forward and wrapped her up in his arms. "I'm so proud," he whispered in her ear. "I forgive you – we all do. The vault thought long and hard about it, and we want you to know… we forgive you."  
There was a very long silence, and Cam started to cry silent tears of joy.

"I want to throw a party," said Thelonious. "For you – for everything you've done for the Liberty Wastes. Freedom was an illusion. Camisha," he told her. "But now it could be real."

Nathan frowned.

* * *

 **3.2**

* * *

Thelonious led Camisha into a large walk-in closet. Ignoring the possibly hundreds of nondescript Vault 85 jumpsuits and drab grey suit jackets, they headed straight for the back. At the back was a large storage cabinet, which required a password in the nearby terminal to unlock.

"What're you showing me, Dad?" Camisha asked Thelonious as he inputted the password. 'Eleanor'. Her middle name. Thelonious looked back to his daughter, a smirk forming on his lips.

"Wait and see, you impatient one." Half serious, he stepped away from the terminal, and the doors of the cabinet hissed before swinging wide. Two sets of metal rods emerged from holes in either side of the room and caught both doors before they hit the walls.

Camisha's breath left her lungs. An overwhelming, irrevocable wave of sadness washed over her. A dress hung there - the only item in the storage cabinet. It was the color of indigo, with sequins that sparkled, even in the dull lighting of the closet. Thelonious watched her reaction as Camisha reached out and brushed her fingertips against the soft material.

"Is... Is this…" Camisha began, but Thelonious finished.

"It's your mother's, Camisha."

She gently pulled her hand away from the dress, reaching into her pocket, where the only picture of her mother resided. Cam pulled it out, unfurling it from a crumpled heap.

The picture was faded and most of the color was gone, but there was her mother, wearing the same dress almost twenty-five years ago now. She was smiling, with one of her arms around the shoulder of a man that had been ripped from the photograph. Now her arm reached into oblivion, cut off at the elbow.

She raised the photograph to the dress, and Thelonious joined her in looking at the photograph. Camisha held it there for a few seconds before slipping it back into her pocket.

"I remember when that photo was taken. I'd known Irene for a few months back then, we were young and stupid, and your grandfather was the overseer then. Christmas Day, 2267. Never had a night like that since." Thelonious stared at the dress before coughing. Camisha turned to him in worry before he jested, "Letting an old man's health bog down your mood?"

She stifled a laugh at this and retorted. "You're not dying on me yet, Dad. No matter how hard you try. You aren't even sixty yet!"

"Close, fifty-eight. Close, but no." Thelonious turned to his daughter. "It's yours now, Cam."

Cam turned to her father, her mouth wide open. "Dad... Really?" She looked at the dress, then at him again. Dress. Dad. Dress. Dad.

"Yes, she would've wanted you to have it." Camisha rinsed and repeated. Dress. Dad. She choked on her laughter, and then she threw her arms around her father.

* * *

 **3.3**

* * *

Thelonious sat on his bed, staring at the painting on his wall. It was a Pre-war Street, a long time before the war, actually. Times Square circa October 1984. There was a hot dog vendor in the far corner, and neon signs that dominated the buildings. A sea of yellow taxicabs threatened to swallow the street whole, and women strode confidently in the middle of the piece, forming a single file line. Their multi-colored clothing and weird hair called the attention of anybody that viewed it. Thelonious silently prayed that Camisha would never, ever, ever look so damn foolish.

She stepped out of the bathroom, looking like a warrior clad in purple. Thelonious let out a sigh. She looked wonderful. She looked just like her mother.

He saw that Camisha was fumbling around with the zipper at her back.

"Uh, Dad, a little help?" she muttered with gritted teeth. Thelonious let out an exasperated, dramatic sigh, and then moved to assist his daughter. She looked barely recognizable under all of that makeup. He noticed the hand prosthetic and the ugly scar on her arm where an arrow had planted itself. She'd grown up.

Camisha couldn't help it, she was flushed with embarrassment the moment her dad began the work of zipping the zipper. "Dad! Jeez! Not so fast!" Thelonious was in the process of zipping it up 'slower' when she piped up again. "You're embarrassing me, and it isn't even time for the toast yet!"

"I changed your diapers until you were six! Then I was the first person you told when Billy Hansen kissed you in the hallway after class, remember?"

Camisha's cheeks turned red. "Dad, just stop..."

He laughed a hearty laugh, and just as he finished zipping it up, David walked into the room. He looked good, with a trimmed black heard and gelled up black hair. He was in a classic black suit with a red tie.

"You look good," he told Cam. "I didn't think they'd throw you a party. Maybe now you can finally ask Kiran out instead of looking at her like a lost puppy."

"Ooh," said Thelonious. "Is Kiran the girl you came here with?"

"No!" Cam objected. "David!"

He gave a shrug.

"I was thinking neon," David suggested. "A lot of neon, and maybe rose petals?"

"I was more thinking slow dance," replied Thelonious.

Cam was going red. "Guys, stop!"

"Come on, you'll be late to your own party," said Thelonious. "Let's go. David and I will… scheme later."


	30. Thank You For Reading This Story

**Hey, so I'm getting very, very busy, and I started this story all those months ago because it was fun to write! Honestly, it's not that fun anymore, so I'm going to discontinue this story after this chapter. Sorry, y'all. Maybe after finals.**

 **Here's everything else I wrote before I decided to discontinue the story.**

 **1.1**

Elizabeth shined a light at Elsa's blue eyes. Her cheekbones were high and her hair was voluminous and naturally blonde, and Elizabeth was trying to get to the bottom of her creation. "You were crafted expertly by somebody very smart," Elizabeth told her.

"He was awful," Elsa replied.

Elizabeth clicked the light off. "A mind like his… You know some say it takes delusion to create art."

"Do you think I'm art?" Elsa asked.

Eliza slipped on a pair of rubber gloves. "I think you're a marvel, Elsa. A scientific marvel."

"Why? How am I different from that synth Kiran? How am I any different than your arm?"

"You're wired to release a whole cocktail of good hormones when you see Martin," Elizabeth told her, rather bluntly.

"He's cute!" Elsa objected.

"He's okay, but he's not really a panty dropper," Elizabeth told Elsa. "Do you want me to shut it off?"

"Shut off what? My libido?"

"A+ vocabulary, but no, not your libido. I'm just trying to improve your autonomy."

"Oh," said Elsa. "Maybe, but I have to give Martin a lesson right now." She stood up.

Elizabeth stood too. "How human do you want to be?" she asked.

"I… I don't know," replied the synth. "I'll come back in the morning." She slipped out of the lab.

After Elsa left, Vic and Valerie came in.

"Hey," Valerie said. She was wearing jeans, a tank top, and a ponytail.

"Sup," greeted Vic. "Y'know, I heard Nuka World has pre-war banana seeds."

"Are you serious?" Elizabeth asked.

Vic nodded. "They used to grow them for the banana stand back in the 2000s."

Elizabeth went silent for a second. "We have to go get those seeds."

 **1.2**

Elizabeth was wearing a white t-shirt with a black and white design, a flannel, and jeans. They were all reinforced by the non-Newtonian fiber they'd scavenged from Vault 002, and she was also wearing the gloves that the Railroad developed.

Standing with her were Candice and Vic. Candice was still in only a vault suit, and Vic was in camo pants, a black sweater, and combat armor. "Nuka World – formerly known as Coney Island – has bananas," she informed the two. "A pre-war fruit untouched by radiation is not only a commodity, but it also has potassium." Her bow and arrows were slung over her shoulder.

"Candice," Vic whispered. "How big was it?"

"Fuck off, Vic." Candice rolled her eyes. Candice had on a Vault 002 Pip-Boy with a map, only because Elizabeth was a self-proclaimed bad navigator.

"Guys, bananas," Elizabeth told them.

"Exactly Candice – how big was his banana?"

"How big is yours?" Candice snapped back.

Vic held his hands a sizable distance apart and Candice rolled her eyes again. "Is ol' Marty compensating for something with that sword? Liz, help me out here," Martin said.

"Y'know scientifically, guys with shorter index fingers than ring fingers are better endowed than other guys," Elizabeth offered. "Taller guys are also better endowed."

"Are those the facts?" Vic asked.

"Well, you know how guys like to have dick measuring contests? Back at the Institute, we kind of had scientific dick study contests."

"Okay, so what do we know about short Martin's hands?" Vic wondered aloud.

"Vic, can you focus on the task at hand? The banana task," Candice requested.

"The banana task," he repeated with a nod.

Elizabeth groaned.

 **2.1**

Vault-Tec had a lot in mind when they made the vaults, but dances were not one of those things.

Thelonious and the vault made a dance room to the best of their abilities, and Thelonious hopped up onto a table and began to speak. "Camisha was young and she was bullied, and we exiled her for that. Once we realized our mistake, Cam, we hoped that _you_ could forgive _us._ You've turned into a beautiful young woman. A hero, too. I know you've lost a lot. I know you've lost Catherine. But we're here for you."

The dwellers clapped. Nathan clapped too. He was wearing a white suit with a red tie. Music began to play, and Nathan didn't get a chance to talk to Cam before everyone started to dance with each other.

David shimmied awkwardly up to the DJ. "Hi!" he said.

The DJ raised an eyebrow.

"Can you play a slow song soon?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," said the DJ. "Dance right now."

David walked down onto the dance floor and a vault dweller tried to grind with him, which he wasn't too into.

Meanwhile, Nathan was drinking champagne off to the side, talking to a big man with a beard.

When Cam saw Thelonious near Kiran she went red. "Dad, no!" she cried. He was dancing like a middle-aged fool, and Kiran was giggling and shooting Cam looks.

After a moment, the music slowed.

Cam grabbed David for a dance, and she said to him, "David, I never got to apologize for leaving you before."

"You didn't have to," David replied.

"Do you forgive me?" Cam asked.

"No," he replied.

"Oh." She went cold in his arms and she asked, "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Of course," said David. "You just have to ask Kiran out. Then I'll _definitely_ forgive you." He gave her a wide grin and she smacked him.

"You asshole!"

"Go dance with her!"

Everybody was staring at them because they were shouting over the quiet music, and Kiran blurted out, "Okay! Let's dance!"

The music got louder again, and Cam started to sway with Kiran. "I know it's been hard," Kiran whispered to Cam. "You've been doing a great job, Cam."

"Thank you. You know… I, uh, got one good thing out of it."

"What?" asked Kiran.

"You," replied Cam.

Music played and there was only silence and eye contact. Suddenly, they couldn't hear the music anymore. Nobody was there, on that makeshift dance floor, except for them. No, they only had eyes for each other.

A scream brought them out of their world.

Cam spun to see a suited man run a blade through another suited man. Four suited men were running at vault dwellers, stabbing and slashing over the waltz music. There was something ironic about the way they swung to the beat, but that irony was lost on everyone there.

More men came into the room, but these men weren't in suit; they were in full legion armor. Cam grabbed Kiran and pulled her away, and David took Thelonious. A few girls followed them, but Nathan was nowhere to be found.

"We have to get our weapons!" Cam told them.

"What about the vault dwellers?" Thelonious shouted.

"We can't do anything for them without weapons," David agreed. They ran to the overseer's office and Cam grabbed her bat. Kiran grabbed her plasma pistol, and Thelonious took a random 10mm pistol.

Nathan paced into the office. "It's the Legion," he told them. "Let's go."

 **3.1**

Ben stood, again, at Logan's grave. Ben never knew his own last name, but he needed one when they made him a squire. So his full name? Squire Ben Logan.


End file.
